


Lights Over Alaska

by Hollandoodle



Category: Game of Thrones RPF, Rory McCann - Fandom
Genre: Airplanes, Alaska, F/M, Fluff, Flying, So much fluff it makes me sick, a smidge of smut, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Rory McCann meets a stranger and things heat up in Alaska - what happens when their together time is up?





	1. Chance Meeting On A Plane

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted fanfic! Please be kind in the comments :-) 
> 
> I am a Rory fan, thanks to GOT, and this story had been on my mind for a while before I started writing it.
> 
> He is aged down to 44 for the sake of the story.

Emma couldn’t believe she was doing this. Well, she could totally believe she was flying to Alaska to see the Northern Lights, something she had wanted to do since she was a kid and she had first learned of their existence. She just couldn’t believe she was doing it alone.

No, that wasn’t true either. She COULD believe it. If someone had asked her yesterday if it were possible—her going to Alaska alone—she would have laughed, but not today. Today she knew deep down in her bones that Keith was the type of person to leave her high and dry. Up until yesterday she had just ignored all the signs.

They had met five years ago and though what would be called their whirlwind romance had been a bit rocky all along, they had planned on cementing their love by exchanging vows yesterday. Keith would have looked so handsome in his suit, with his blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted by the dark grey Italian suit. His hair would have been styled just the way he liked it—lots of gel, spiked upward in the front and slicked back toward the back. Emma always thought he had looked good from afar, but gel wasn’t conducive to running her fingers through his hair, as she had often yearned to do.

Come to think of it, there were often times when his desires and needs took precedence over hers, all the way back to their first date. They had been set up by a mutual acquaintance and he had insisted she would love his favorite sushi restaurant. She had gone, having wanted to give a good first impression, and completely ignoring that she had never had a sushi that she liked. But she choked down the meal because he was cute and he was nice to her. Pulling out a thick wallet hand hurt his chances, since she had assumed it meant he had a good job. She would later find out he just had a healthy trust fund.

Things heated up after that date. He continued to “know” what was good for her, and wined and dined her as well as bought her every type of flower known to man. They moved her into his apartment after two weeks and thus began a 5-year long struggle to figure out how to make it work. He told her what to wear, what to eat, who to see, what movies to watch. He took her autonomy and tucked it in the back of the closet fully intending to have her forget she even had one.

When things took a particularly bad turn, on a night when he insisted she wear a nighty he had purchased but that she didn’t find appealing, he smoothed things over by proposing. How naive she was! Even now as she pushed her small overnight bag into the overhead compartment and took her seat, she shook her head and chuckled at how preposterous it was. All she had thought was that she was going to have a big wedding, his big fancy family were going to be there, her own small, modest family would see her marry the man she loved, and she would live happily ever after.

Gag, she thought now. Oh, how the obligations, plans, promises and expectations had weighed her down. They steadily overtook the happiness of the event until those last few days, during the final fittings of her gown and the last minute preparations of the massive cathedral Keith had chosen for their venue. It was all she could do to not throw up every time her future mother in law had spoken about giving up her business, because painting the faces of strangers kids would never do for the mother of their grandchildren. It didn’t matter that Emma loved her job. Her future father in law had personally promised her she wouldn’t have time to do anything but cook and clean once she had a passel of Keith Jr's running around her bare feet.

And then Keith had been acting so strangely the day before the wedding. He wouldn’t answer her phone calls, to which his mother just responded that he didn’t want to have any contact with his bride the day before the wedding. She called a couple of his friends to inquire as to his whereabouts but she just got jumbled responses and vague excuses for his absence. And since she had no true friends and only her family would be at the wedding, she called her mom who reassured her that everything would be okay.

It was not in fact okay. The next day his hotel room was empty, Emma’s father reported. There was no note, no explanation, only two first class tickets to some white sandy beach island Keith had chosen for their honeymoon, and a dark gray suit hanging from a hanger.

It had been humiliating, but it had also been like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. She finally saw Keith for what he was—a manipulating coward who had turned tail and ran during the night.

It had been a natural response, a defense mechanism if you will, to exchange those two first class tickets for another ticket, this time coach, on a much smaller plane heading to Alaska. And her March wedding had been transformed into her March vacation of a lifetime, despite her having to do it alone. It after what Keith did, she felt she deserved some worry free time to herself. After all, restarting her face painting business when she got back wasn’t going to be easy. But it would give her something to focus on.

No point on dwelling on all this now, she thought to herself. In her small aisle seat she leaned towards the empty one beside her to avoid being hit in the head by purses or bumped by butts. With her chin resting on her fist she gazed out the window at the cold, dreary Chicago afternoon and wondered what adventures awaited her in Alaska.

Rory was irritated. Meghan had changed her tickets but had failed to tell him, which meant instead of playing with his nephew o his way to Alaska he was going to have to sit by some stranger now occupying his nephew’s seat and prayed it wasn’t a large, sweaty man. Rory wasn’t sweaty but he was large, and Good Lord but these plane seats were small! The last thing he wanted was to rub arms with another man for six hours.

Meghan always asked why he didn’t fly first class. He could afford to fly first class wherever he went, why didn’t he? And while he was at it, why didn’t he pay for all her flights?! But it just wasn’t in him to spend his money so extravagantly. First class was nice but it was all the same to him to pocket the money he would have spent and explore a new remote location where he could spend time outside and enjoy the peace and quiet. Being an actor had its perks—hefty paychecks, as well as long periods of time off. This happened to be one of them, where in a few months he would be back to filming the hit show of which he was a part, and he would be back to 12 hour days with hardly any break for weeks.

If he could just get through this flight he was going to enjoy seeing Alaska in the winter immensely.

He carried his small carry on bag towards the back of the plane, silently counting down the rows until he got to 17, and his gaze fell on a beautiful cascade of wavy brown hair. Obviously the woman had no idea he was supposed to sit in the seat she was currently leaning over so he quickly took his book from his bag, tossed it in the overhead compartment and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’ve got the window seat,” he said. She didn’t appear to hear him and he knew the line was growing behind him so he tapped her on the shoulder. Her surprised reaction wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t yelped so loudly. “I’m sorry, I was trying to get your attention,” he was saying. But her gaze hadn’t reached his face yet. It traveled from his middle and up over his chest, and she gave him the silliest expression when it landed on his face. But she shook it off quickly, her large green eyes leaving his face as she nodded and then shook her head, and nodded again.

“Yes, of course,” she stammered, getting to her feet and moving out of the way so he could sit in the window seat. She hastily took her seat again to allow the rest of the passengers to move by. He noticed only a couple gave her dirty looks.

At this point, he surmised, the proper thing to do would be to welcome the familiar silence when faced with the unfamiliar—the awkward silence that came when one sat so close to someone else on an airplane. But for those two, maybe three seconds that he had seen her face he knew he wasn’t going to last six hours without speaking to her. Not only was he curious as to what had held her attention so thoroughly that she hadn’t heard him, but he wanted to see her look at him so he could get a better look at her face. That glorious hair, clearly hanging to her bottom in bountiful waves of chocolate brown, and the eyelashes to match. He knew she would be beautiful.

And tth as he might, he could help but feel a tad disappointed that she was small enough to not require bumping elbows during the whole flight. He almost smiled as he thought to himself, perhaps he could act a bit bigger than he actually was.

He almost snorted. That wasn’t his style. But nor was sitting in awkward silence for six hours next to a beautiful stranger. He tucked his novel into the pocket of the seat in front of him and cleared his throat, achingly aware that his Scottish rogue paired with his size made him an interesting character to these curious Americans.

“do you prefer the window seat?” he asked, hoping this time she was listening. And she was, because her gaze once again shot to his face. Ah, those eyes. He was certain she wasn’t wearing a lick of mascara and yet her lashes were miles long and as thick as a meadow… Inwardly cringing at such poetics, he was relieved when she spoke.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him. She seemed to not want to look at his face. She was once again staring at her hands, which were clasped together with her thumbs alternately scraping at the pad of the other.

“Are you sure?” he asked again. “You were staring out the window so intently when I arrived I thought perhaps you wished to see the scenery.” He made sure to smile—Meghan always said he looked friendly when he smiled but not so much when he didn’t.

“It’s all right,” she said, this time glancing at him with a small smile. Her lips were wide and soft-looking, and when she smiled he could have sworn his heart gave an extra beat. “I was just lost in thought.”

There was the opening, he thought. Tread carefully, he heard in his mind in Meghan's voice. “Not a bad place to be lost,” he said, and he w relieved to see some of the tension leave her body.

Emma chuckled. What the hell was wrong with her?? She didn’t dare put a voice to the thought circling in her mind so she took the plunge and offered her hand to the Scottish man beside her.

“Emma Williamson,” she said, feeling her heart skip a beat as his smile widened and his large hand engulfed her own. With a small shake, his slightly rough skin to her smooth palm, he said, “Rory McCann.”

This couldn’t be happening, she decided. She must be dreaming. Surely this hunk of a man beside her didn’t just introduce himself to her in the hottest Scottish accent imaginable as the man who was currently starring as her favorite character in her favorite TV show. What was she supposed to do now??

It was the look on his face that decided for her. He was looking at her not as an actor who’s face was known around the world, not as a celebrity who was waiting for an adoring fan to drool at his feet, but as someone who was ready to have pleasant conversation during what would now be the most interesting six hours of her life. Play it cool, Emma, she heard in her mind. And the urge to ask for an autograph immediately started to fade. This was going g to be something she told to her grand kids someday. Don't ruin it by being a stereotype.

Was it going to be possible to have a normal conversation with him? Was she going to be able to have a normal conversation with a man ever again? She supposed this was as good a time as ever to find out.

“What do you do, Mr. McCann?” she asked, though she made sure her smile conveyed to him the effort she was putting forth. To her amusement and enjoyment, he returned her smile with one of her own and replied.

“Rory, please. And I am an actor. And you?”

“A face painter,” she replied. It was always funny to see people’s reactions when she told them her profession. Rory was no different. His smile widened once again, and his wonderful crows feet at the corner of his eyes spread. He was so handsome! “I paint at birthday parties and children’s events,” she clarified.

“And this is a good career for you?” he asked. “You are an artist?”

Emma smiled. “it is good, because I am good at what I do. And yes, I’m an artist. Art has always seemed to be in my blood. When I struggled at school, I always excelled at art.” She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her sweater. “would you like to see?”

At his encouragement she pulled up her business Instagram account to show him the gallery of happy photos. But she was immediately reminded of all she had given up. As she scrolled through her designs, many of the photos being of herself, her face fell. Try as she might, she couldn’t push away the hurt she felt at having closed off that part of herself for a ridiculous man.

Rory must have seen her reaction because he leaned in a bit closer, seeming to not want anyone to hear him. “Do those photos not make you happy?”

Emma looked up at him. His question was incredibly perceptive, and his face was also incredibly close to hers. Oh, how nice it would be to love a man worthy of her love. Her gaze fell to his lips but there was no more smile. And suddenly she wanted to tell him all her secrets, everything bad that had happened over the last year. Those brown eyes were asking her so much more than his original question.

And she could smell him, she realized. Faint laundry detergent and a fragrance unlike any cologne she had ever smelled on Keith. His cologne was mild, barely a whisper of scent, but it combined with the smell of his skin to create such an alluring smell that a small part of her buried deep long ago suddenly became inflamed. Better to quell those feelings right now, she thought.

“Why are you asking me this,” she said, a statement of curiosity and wonder masquerading as a question. “You don’t know me.”

His face still close, he replied, “I find myself wanting to know you, artist.” And he took her phone from her hands, pressed the button on the side that turned off her screen and handed it back to her as the announcement came from the front of the plane that it was time to leave Chicago.

Rory could see that Emma wanted to change the subject. Whatever she had seen in the photos of her beautiful paintings that had saddened her, he could see her hesitation in sharing it. So instead he turned the conversation once more to the banal. “Do you fly much?” He leaned back slightly in his seat and watched the sadness gratefully wash from her face.

“No, in fact I haven’t been soon a plane since I was a child.” And he realized she looked like it. As the plane moved down the taxiing runway her eyes fell from his face and she began shooting darting glances out through any windows she could see out of, including his own.

“Would you like if I closed the blind?” he asked, and she nodded quickly.

“Yes, thank you,” said Emma. “I didn’t expect to be this nervous.”

“It’s normal,” he assured her, noting how her lips formed a perfect bow when she wasn’t smiling. “I fly a lot and I often sit next to nervous fliers.”

Emma shot him a quick smile as the plane maneuvered around the last turn. “Do you talk to all of them as you are doing now?”

Rory chuckled but found himself wishing it was a leading question, although he knew her mind wasn’t on the question but on the event that was about to happen. So he answered the way his heart told him to answer, “No, I’ve never sat next to one so pretty.”

The answer obviously startled her as her eyes, once squeezed shut, shot to his and her mouth opened in a small O. But before she could respond the airplane shot forward and her eyes were closed again. As the force pushed them both against the back of their seats he heard a quiet, “Rory,” but it sounded more like a plea. Her eyes were closed and she was holding onto both armrests with white knuckled fingers. He reached over and gently pried her fingers off the armrest between them and entwined her fingers with his, noting that they immediately clamped onto his hand with likely the same force she had been grasping the armrest. He absently rubbed the skin of her wrist and hand with his thumb, all the while watching the stressed expression on her face.

Her hand felt so tiny inside his. Her skin was slightly cool and soft, but her fingers fit between his like they were made to. She wasn’t wearing any rings, though why he was curious was as frustrating as anything he had thought of recently. She was an attractive woman, probably in her early 30s, and he had seen a sense of humor in her when she had obviously refused to play the part of adoring fan (for he was certain she had at least seen the show—she knew who he was). But they had six hours together,

and he had a short time in Alaska before he had to head home to Scotland, hardly the time needed to form a lasting relationship.

When the nose of the plane left the ground she grimaced, and as the world fell out from under them her right hand came over to cover his that still held her left hand. He suddenly felt like the next six hours were going to be some of the most interesting of his life. He brought his other hand over and stroked her arm, not unlike what he would do to his nephew when Stephen came to him with a scrape. “Shhh, we'll even out in a moment,” he reassured her quietly. After a couple minutes when they did indeed even out and the force pulling them into their seats lessened, her grip on his hand lessened. With eyes still closed she turned her head towards him and sighed deeply. Then she opened those beautiful green eyes and smiled a smile at him that both melted his heart and set him aflame.

“Do you mind holding my hand for a while longer?” Emma didn’t know where her boldness had come from but as she really was nervous about flying, she really didn’t care about propriety at the moment. Rory leaned his head back against his seat and looked down at her, that gorgeous smile wrinkling his eyes.

“Not at all, lass,” he replied. He continued stroking her arm as he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” she replied, although she had to admit to herself that looking into his eyes was doing funnier things to her stomach than takeoff did. So she closed her eyes for a moment longer than necessary and chose to start conversation rather than dwell on the significance of their continuing intimate moment. “What brings you to Alaska, Rory?”

He gave a small nod, acknowledging her backing off slightly from the familiarity they were experiencing. “I was supposed to be on holiday with my sister and nephew,” he said, a glowing love showing on his face. It was quickly replaced by chagrined annoyance as he continued, “My sister changed her ticket at the last minute so you are indeed sitting in my nephews seat.”

“Oh, so that’s why I was able to get a seat on this flight at the last minute.”

“Yes,” said Rory with a shake of his head and a smile. “My sister has always been slightly impulsive so something must have come up. She changed her ticket for a week from now, but only told me at the last minute.”

“Why didn’t you change yours?” Emma was having a slightly hard time concentrating on what he was saying because he was still rubbing her arm. Her eyes darted down to the contact and when they returned to his, she watched him smile, look down at the contact as well, and look back up at her. But he didn’t stop, thank God.

“I am not a fan of exorbitantly spending money on unnecessary fees. And a week alone in Alaska certainly isn’t the worst way I could spend my time.” He smiled at her, a small one that showed his straight teeth. “Plus I'd have never met you,” he said. Emma couldn’t help but smile a smile that reached her eyes. Six hours indeed. “Now what brings you to Alaska all by yourself,” Rory we asking.

“Ah,” she said, “The dreaded question.” She smiled at him before looking away, this time pulling away her right hand but leaving her left entwined with his. He stopped rubbing her arm but gave her hand a small encouraging squeeze.

Emma debated on whether to tell him the truth, that she had been left at the alter and this was her escape from the reality of life. Or she could tell him she was just a tourist traveling alone, heading to Alaska to see the Northern Lights in what we probably the only chance she would ever get. Which one sounded more pitiful?

She decided on the truth. She would tell Rory McCann, Scottish crush, actor in her favorite TV show and world renowned celebrity, the truth. And she wondered what his reaction would be.

Without looking at him she said quietly, “This is my honeymoon.” There was silence from his seat so she looked over at him. He was obviously surprised as his eyes were wide and his thick eyebrows were raised. And then he made a big show of looking around, which was easy for him as he was so tall, quite obviously looking for the missing groom.

“Uh, Emma…” Rory cleared his throat and made himself look uncomfortable as he asked, “I think you forgot your groom.”

Emma burst out laughing, and Rory chuckled, though there was a noticeable heat in his eyes as he looked at her laughing face. Oh, he was glorious, and she had desperately needed to laugh.

“No,” she said, still chuckling. “He forgot me, nearly at the alter, no less.” And she proceeded to tell him the quick version of discovering her groom had disappeared in the night, and how his entire family had either known about it or were entirely unconcerned. Rory’s face had started out disbelieving at her story but when she finished he hadn’t a trace of smile on his face. He even looked angry, probably disgusted, and for a second Emma thought his opinion of her must have turned.

“What an idiot,” said Rory as he glanced away from her. And before she could ask to whom he was referring to, he turned back to her and said, “Emma, you are well rid of that sod. Any man who treats a woman as such doesn’t deserve the title of Man.” And then he brought her hand up to his mouth and gently kissed the back of it, the hairs of his mustache tickling the sensitive skin. It was a conciliatory kiss, a kiss of concern from someone who cared what another had gone through, but it started the butterflies in Emma’s stomach to flutter like crazy.

But perhaps now was the time to have the conversation she had avoided having with even her family. She was ready to get it off her chest and to contemplate what came next.

“I wasn’t ready to marry, not really,” she said, once again enjoying the feel of his thumb stroking the skin of her hand. “But we were together for a year, and it really was a whirlwind. I suppose I thought things would be better if we got married and instead they got worse.” She paused, remembering her first excursion to find a wedding dress and how he wanted her to look like a princess in a poofy gown whereas she had preferred the more simple, sleek designs. Truth be told, she likely would have been happy with something off a rack at JC Penney. “He controlled everything,” she said, this time looking Rory full on in the face. “He told me what to wear, how to do my hair, he ordered our food, decorated our apartment, and he decided on everything for our wedding—that it would be in a large church, and his longtime family pastor would officiate it, and that our catering would be done by an expensive, fancy caterer flown in from New York. It was utterly ridiculous.” She looked down at their hands and sighed heavily. “I was—am, ashamed that I let it go that far.” She paused and looked back up at Rory, who was looking at her with utmost concern written all over his face. “I loved him once, in the beginning. And I thought he would keep loving me if I did things his way. I was so wrong.” I will not cry, she demanded in her mind. And she was about to, had Rory not spoke.

“Emma, what kind of wedding would you have wanted?” She laughed then, his words holding the tears at bay as she thought on her answer.

“Small!” she said enthusiastically, and once the thought was formed she rolled with it. “Small, and likely outdoors. I don’t feel you need to get married in a church. Nature is beautiful, and I would have loved to have been married under tall trees. With a breeze in the air, and sunshine coming through new, spring leaves, and perhaps someone who is close to me officiating.” She smiles. “And it wouldn’t be a celebration without barbecue. Chicken and ribs with potato salad, corn on the cob, some of my favorite side dishes.” She chuckled and looked up at Rory. “And I suppose whatever the groom wanted.” He was looking at her so intently, the sides of his mouth upturned in a friendly and amused smile, and looked so handsome at that moment that unbidden an image of him standing next to her entered her mind, their hands clasped as he slid a ring onto her finger. He would look so handsome in jeans and a silk vest, she thought.

Flustered, she laughed again and looked away. “A girl can dream, right?” but when she would have ended the conversation he asked her another question.

“How would you wear your hair?” Emma looked back at him and somehow wondered if he was picturing the same thing she was. Feeling slightly confused and more than a little embarrassed for the direction of her thoughts, she drew her long hair over her shoulder and held it up, examining it before letting it fall against her sweater.

“Down,” she said, and she chuckled when Rory grunted and nodded his approval.

Rory was certain, by the way she said the word, that it was because the cretin she almost married liked her hair up and done. Rory was indeed picturing the same thing, though—what she would look like in the dappled sunlight, a breeze playing with the ends of her long brown hair, the long skirt of her simple gown playing at her legs. And him, facing her in front of some nameless minister, smelling the mixture of dew drops and her shampoo, bending down to meet her upturned face as the minister announced Mr. and Mrs. McCann.

His gaze dropped to Emma's mouth and darted away just as quickly. This was dangerous. They had five and a half hours left and it wouldn’t do for him to spend it in a perpetual state of arousal. And it did arouse him—everything about her, really. That she was an artist, a sensitive woman, a beautiful woman, a woman willing to play the Everything Is Normal game when apparently nothing at the moment was normal for either of them. And her visual of the perfect wedding just so happened to be perfect for him as well. A big society wedding just seemed ridiculous, full of unnecessary expenses. And he could absolutely agree with ribs at a wedding!

They still held hands and it appeared that neither of them was willing to let go, and he was enjoying the feel of her skin against his own. Then a thought entered his mind and he chose to voice it out loud, hoping it would lead to a positive answer. “So he chose Alaska?” The question obviously startled Emma out of her thoughts and he wondered to what extent her thoughts mirrored his own.

She smiled then, an almost mischievous smile. “Of course not,” she said, obviously amused. “He paid for two first class tickets to an island beach, some place where he could show off his perfect tan and six pack abs. He left the tickets, apparently assuming I would still go, so I downgraded to a single ticket to Alaska.” She smiled wide then, showing a row of straight teeth. “I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights.”

Rory laughed. “Ah, Emma,” he sighed. “By now I know not to be surprised at that.”

The drink cart came by and Rory ordered a soda. Emma asked for ice water and Rory was disappointed when they had to separate their hands to put down their drink trays. There was an awkward moment between them when Rory didn’t was to look the assuming male so he waited for Emma to make a decision. He breathed a sigh of relief as she held out her hand to him, which he gladly took into his.

When the drink cart had passed Emma turned to him. “What were your plans had your sister and nephew been able to come with you?”

Rory groaned at her question. He hadn’t thought about the itinerary Meghan had come up with, and paid for with his credit card. Apparently he was in for several tours and excursions as a single man, as well as several hotel suites meant for three people. Bugger her for cancelling on him.

“A lot of spending my money,” he said with a laugh. “My sister is a single mom and I was going to treat her to a holiday.”

Emma squeezed his hand. “That’s so sweet! Is she older or younger than you?”

“A few years younger. She was a surprise,” he replied with a wink. “She's probably a few years older than you.”

Emma smiled and asked, “How old do you think I am?”

Rory winced. “Is that a trick question? A trap?” They both laughed as she shook her head so he guessed, “28.”

“We’ll, thank you for the compliment! But no, I’m 31. You were close!” He smiled and asked her how old she thought he was. Her guest of 40 was fairly close, as he told her 44.

They steered their conversation back to their mutual love of nature and how funny it we that they had both chosen Alaska to get away from life. Rory marveled at her strength, as any other woman might have been wallowing in self pity after being ditched so close to her wedding. He didn't understand how she could have saddled herself with such a nitwit but chose not to question it. Even he knew love made people do odd things. He had been in love a time or two and remembered the feeling of being adle-brained.

But there was a reason he had made it to 44 without being married. He had decided long ago that he went going to make that commitment unless the woman he chose felt like the missing piece to his puzzle. If he felt like he couldn’t live without her, if he knew deep down in his bones that he had been made to make her happy for the rest of her life, then and only then would he consider the idea of marriage. And kids? At his age? He wasn’t sure if that would be fair to the child. Rory wasn't especially active although he went for walks and hikes every week. Emma had mentioned Nitwit’s tan and six pack. Despite him obviously not making a good father, Rory decided Nitwit was a more decent age and of a more decent physical fitness level to be a parent that Rory was.

Not to mention Nitwit being more ale to attract a beautiful woman like Emma. Rory knew he wasn’t ugly by any stretch, but six pack and tan? All Rory had was fairly pale skin and a hairy stomach—not the catch of the century in his book.

As Emma spoke now about face painting, her face lit with pleasure, Rory couldn’t help but daydream a bit. He’d like to run his hands through all that glorious hair, feel the skin of her lips under his, to go for a walk holding her hand and enjoying each other’s company in nature. And he hadn’t as of yet gotten a glimpse of her figure although he was willing to bet it as just as beautiful as the rest of her.

In another life, if they had met under different circumstances, he would have asked her to go to dinner with him. He would have asked her to go on these blasted tours Meghan had saddled him with. To share the empty hotel rooms?...

No, best not let his thoughts turn in that direction. He came to his senses as she was saying she had brought some of her old paints with her, in case she had an opportunity to sit and practice.

“Is that something that relaxes you? Painting, I mean?”

“Oh, yes,” she said emphatically. “To use these vibrant paints, to create beautiful flowers and swirls, to create animals and designs. I love the process. These days they have so many products to experiment with.”

“And at one time you enjoyed doing it on children?" Her face fell and he almost regretted asking it. But he had heard talking through issues could be therapeutic, and he knew from personal experience that having someone to talk to about trials was rarely a bad thing. He resumed rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb to encourage her.

"I did," she said hesitantly, then, "I probably would now. I do love painting on kids, they are always so impressed with my work!" She was smiling now, and looked up into his eyes. "Especially the little girls, Rory. Turning a little girl into a princess or a cat, or painting a magnificent flower on the arms of the ones who were too shy for a painting on the face... It was really magical." She seemed so wistful, he didn’t want to interrupt her with more questions. He just wanted to let her speak. She looked away, her gaze somewhere off in space at a point he wasn't able to see. "They were so darling—little dresses and messy faces, pigtails and ponytails." She smiled back at him for a moment before continuing, "That age between two and about four is the best. They are so full of wonder, and the reactions they gave once they stood in front of the mirror..."

She pulled her phone out of her pocket to show him once again, taking her hand away from his so she could use the controls on her phone. When she brought up the gallery of her work and started to scroll through them he realized many photos were of little girls looking into mirrors, apparently capturing the moment when they first saw their face. There were so many tiny, surprised and pleased faces that Rory wondered how she could do it. It seemed to him like it could be hard work, and he said so then.

"Oh no," she said, smiling and looking up at him. He had leaned in close to see the photos and didn't move away when she laid it on her tray and turned her face up to his. "My back aches, yes, after sitting in the same position for five or six hours. But Rory, when I am painting and I have a line of twenty or thirty kids waiting to be painted by me—kids willing to wait in line for 45 minutes or more to have me paint on their little faces, I am completely unable to request a break, nor do I miss one." Her enthusiasm for the job was beginning to shine through in her eyes and in her voice as she spoke, and he was mesmerized by this complicated, intriguing woman. "I don't drink, I don't eat, I don't even have to use the restroom," she laughed at that. "Probably because I don't drink!" She shook her head and looked away momentarily and for a few seconds he thought she was lost in thought. But then he heard her quietly voice something he wasn't sure she had intended to say.

"At one point in my life I had hoped to paint my own daughter." Her shoulders shook with her short laugh, "Or son, I suppose." She sighed heavily. "I feel like Keith took away that dream as well. He seems to be taking things from me even though he is now long gone from my life."

"Hey," Rory said immediately. Emma turned to him, their faces close once again. Or as close as could be, seeing as how her eyes didn’t reach the top of his shoulder. But he leaned down nonetheless. "Stop thinking of Nitwit," he said, causing her to smile again, although this time it didn't reach her eyes.

"Is that what you have named him?"

"It is more than what he deserves, Emma." Then tears did enter her eyes, but he didn't regret saying it, and was happy he did so when she leaned over and rested her temple against his shoulder.

"Thank you, Rory."

"You're welcome, Emma." He planted a chaste kiss on top of her head and held her hand, noting that it was time for some silence.

He didn't know if she dozed or if she had just chosen to be quiet for a while, but it left him wandering aimlessly in his own thoughts. He was bewitched, he was sure of it. This intriguing woman would be his undoing. How was he to say goodbye to her when they got off the plane in Fairbanks? She had him picturing himself holding a little girl with Emma's chocolate brown hair and his brown eyes. Ach, a man of his age wondering what it would feel like to be a father. It was preposterous. Nevertheless, he found himself wondering if he would look on his child the same way she described looking upon children that weren't even hers—those little princesses and cats she used to paint, pouring her love and heart into her art. Sitting for five or six hours with no break because she didn't have the heart to tell the little buggers they had to wait longer. He just couldn't imagine it.

But looking down at her now, her dark lashes laying against her cheeks, the soft curve of her nose, her small hand entwined in his much larger one, he was completely lost. How could his life change this much in a scant hour of time? How could he go from worrying about his sister the menace and his rambunctious nephew, to wondering what married life and fatherhood—with this woman, no less—would be like? It was insane. He was certain he had completely lost his mind. Fairbanks couldn't come fast enough.

Or could it?


	2. Too Good To Be True

Emma opened her eyes when she heard voices, but closed them again to the light in the cabin, preferring to gently rub her face against the soft warmth that rested against her cheek. She was smelling that smell—man and laundry detergent and a faint smell of cologne that she had come to associate with Rory. His hand stroked her hair beside her face and she heard Rory's voice softly telling her that dinner was about to arrive. 

Regrettably she opened her eyes again and sat up, blinking up at Rory through sleepy eyes. She smiled, and he smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in that way she adored. She rubbed her eyes and smoothed the hair on the left side of her head where she had been sleeping against his shoulder. She felt tired, so she knew she hadn't been asleep for long. 

"You're soft," she said instinctively, and then her eyes opened wide when she realized that hadn't been proper. 

But Rory laughed, thanked her, and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss that was a heartbeat longer than the first time he had done it. "Thank you," he rumbled in his low voice. She was sure they were having a moment but it was interrupted by the muffled sound of the cart arriving at their row in the pressurized cabin. 

They both received the lasagna meal and when the cart had passed and they were both peeling the plastic cover off their meals, Emma leaned over to Rory and said conspiratorially, "I make a mean lasagna." 

"Is it better than this?" He asked, poking his with a fork. 

Emma laughed. "You would never want another lasagna in your life," she said with a wink. Rory laughed, and they began to eat their meal. 

"So you cook?" Rory asked. Emma nodded, and swallowed a mouthful of dry side salad before responding. 

"I do, pretty well I might add. And I mostly taught myself. My mom is a fantastic cook but she never really taught me anything other than how to cook a grilled cheese. And the only reason she taught me that, I think, is because both my dad and I really liked them and it meant one less meal she had to make for us." She unwrapped her roll. "How about you, do you cook?" 

"I think the best way to describe my cooking would be 'bachelor,'" he replied with a laugh. "I can make grilled cheese, yes, and I can cook anything that comes out of a can." 

"Ooh, like baked beans?" Emma laughed when Rory nodded. 

"I make a mean can of baked beans," he joked. 

They finished their meal, making small talk all the while, until the flight attendant came to remove their trays and offer them fresh drinks and a movie. Emma hoped that Rory would decline the movie and breathed a sigh of relief when he did. She declined as well, and they regained their side-by-side position of holding hands. 

"Rory?" Emma said. 

"Hmm?" He had begun rubbing the back of her hand once again. 

"I never expected to make a friend on this flight." She leaned her head back against her seat but turned it to look at him. He turned to look at her and smiled that small smile of his. 

"Neither did I," he said. 

She decided to get the conversation over with. "I never expected to befriend an actor, either." She saw his eyes close for a brief moment but then they opened again and he smiled bigger. 

"I never expected to befriend a face painter," he replied, looking down at her with an expression that said he was giving her his undivided attention, as well as humoring her due to the nature of her conversation. 

"I'm serious! Rory McCann. I never imagined. Why are you not in first class rubbing elbows with lawyers and socialites?" 

Rory laughed. "It's just a waste of money. I much prefer rubbing elbows with pretty ladies." He winked at her again, and drew his lower lip under his teeth for the heart-melting smile she hadn't yet seen on him but had seen countless times on the internet. 

Emma laughed to cover her near-swoon. "I'm serious, Rory. Don't you get tired of adoring fans throwing their panties at you? Of women handing you their phone numbers, of people swarming you for your autograph? You are, after all, THE Sandor Clegane, one time menace of The North," she said, referring to his character on the popular TV show. 

"Well," he started, appearing to measure his words, "Are you an adoring fan? Because I wouldn't mind if you threw your--" 

"Rory!" Emma laughed until her eyes watered. "Really!" She put her other hand on his forearm and squeezed, but left it there as their laughter subsided. "I'm serious!" 

Rory was smiling, looking at her hand on the arm that held her other hand. He put his hand on it, and she liked the contact that was happening between the two of them. Whereas Keith—Nitwit—had preferred sexual contact or no contact, holding hands with this very large man beside her was comforting, new. It made her feel warm and safe. 

"I do get tired of it," admitted Rory. "But it doesn't bother me like you say. I haven't been altered by the fame, I don't lose myself in the celebrity." He looked up at her, eyes creasing. "And I do not accept the panties or the numbers." 

Emma blushed, wishing he hadn't said that while looking her in the eye. 

"Seriously, I have a good sense of humor with it all. I have fun with it." He chuckled. "I just 'woof' at people and they love it." He was referring to his character's nickname on the show, The Hound. 

A flight attendant came by to take their drink trash and Rory mentioned he'd like to visit the restroom, so Emma got out of her seat to let him by. As he walked up the aisle to the restroom she realized she was staring at him. And then he stopped outside the restroom door, his hand on the handle, and looked back at her. She felt herself blushing furiously as she quickly sat back down in her seat, low enough to break eye contact with him, but not quickly enough to miss the grin that spread across his face at catching her watching him. 

Lord, he was tall. She hadn't seen him enter the plane before take off and had been so flustered when he told her he was her seatmate that she hadn't noticed his height. But his head reached almost to the top of the plane, with only a few inches to spare. He really was massive, at least a head taller than Nitwit. 

She smiled to herself. She was really starting to like that nickname. 

When Rory returned she stood to get out of his way. The plane suddenly gave a small lurch of turbulence and Rory reached out, grasping her around the waist and hauling her flat against his body. What felt like an eternity pressed up against his hard body must only have been a few seconds, but it unsettled her as much as the turbulence did. And even through her fear she knew it felt wonderful, to have her face so close to his wide chest and to feel strong arms embracing her. She could see the continuation of the hair of his beard as it travelled down his neck and into the unbuttoned V of his polo, just above eye level to her. She had the intriguing thought, he must be covered in hair, but the moment was broken as soon as it begun. "Come, sit," he said, and she didn't hesitate to follow him into their seat. The Fasten Your Seatbelt light came on as the plane continued to jump and shake with the light turbulence. 

But it was enough for her anxiety to come back and she reached out for his hand at the same time he offered it to her. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Emma," he assured her, his Scottish brogue low and lilting. 

"I know," she laughed, but it was a self-deprecating one. "I'm just not used to flying. Can we talk about something? To distract me? Please?" 

She knew she was being silly, that she was safer in an airplane than she was in a car, but it didn't matter. A car crash could take place on the ground whereas in the air you had 30,000 feet to wait for death. 

"What are your immediate plans for Fairbanks?" She asked the first thing that came to mind. Rory rubbed her arm as he answered. 

"Find my rental, I suppose. And then find my hotel. You?" 

Emma closed her eyes and swallowed hard, but a new thought warred with the motion sickness she was starting to feel—worry. 

"I didn't get a hotel," she realized out loud. "I have taxi money but I'll need to find a hotel. It's the middle of winter, I'm sure there will be one open." 

The rubbing stopped, but then started up again immediately. "Yes," Rory agreed, "I'm sure there will be vacancies. And plenty of taxi companies." 

Something in his voice made her pause but she couldn't put her finger on it, so she went on. "I don't have a plan of things to do. I suppose I should find a rental, I hadn't thought of that either." And come to think of it, she was worried she wouldn't have the right winter gear for standing outside to look at the northern lights. "Tomorrow I'm going to go shopping for some things I need and I'll work out what I'm doing from there." 

"You mean you scheduled your flight but nothing else?" Rory didn't sound admonishing, but it felt like it all the same, until he went on. "Never mind, I know you were under a lot of stress when you left Chicago. I could..." His sentence stopped, as though he was going to go on but then chose not to. The shaking of the plane stopped so she looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in question. “I could wait with you at the airport until you get some things settled.” Although he was looking at her while he said it she thought that it might not be what he had wanted to say. 

“That’s really thoughtful, Rory, but you don’t have to do that. I know how to lift a phone,” she teased. But he shook his head. 

“Emma, it will be past midnight in a strange city. I’ve decided. I’ll stay with you.” He patted her arm before she could say anything else, and for once she was grateful for a man taking control. 

 

Rory spent the next hour trying to not think about the way Emma’s body had felt against his, but now it seemed like his awareness of her had increased tenfold. He saw the stretchy material of her pants wrapping her upper thighs. He noted her short, clipped but polished fingernails. He saw the freckle on her cheek just below her left eye. He liked how she looked when she tucked her hair behind her ear, letting the backs of her fingers trail down her neck to play with the zipper pull of her sweater. And he found himself watching her lips as she spoke and seeing how they added to her expressiveness. She scrunched them up when she spoke about making a mistake or something that had embarrassed her, and she pursed them when talking about something that irritated her. And her smile—he could stare at it all day, especially when he was the cause. 

Which was the case at this moment, as he had been telling her about growing up in Scotland and all the jobs he had before finally going to acting school in the 90s. “I have seen the porridge commercial,” she said, laughing. He reached up to scratch underneath the growth of beard on his neck, feeling more close to bashful than he had in a long time. 

“Yes, well…” He chuckled at her enjoyment of the subject. “In my defense, I WAS paid a good sum for doing it.” Her tinkling laughter warmed his heart. If only he could make her laugh thus more often. She deserved it after what she had been through. He'd watch the suggestive naked-until-the-kilt commercial a thousand times with her if it meant her laughing every time. 

Conversation turned to her youth in a small town outside of Chicago and how her small family still lived on the tiny farm she grew up on. Although they no longer farmed they rented the land to people who wished to and made a good amount of money to live on. Emma told him her mom never approved of Keith and her father flat-out rejected him as a future son-in-law. But they had been civil to him, and always would be, as long as he had been the one she chose to marry. She added, thank God things worked out the way they did. 

“In fact, talking with you about face painting has reminded me of how much I enjoyed doing it and I may revive my business license when I get home.” She smiled so sweetly at him then, and he felt a mile tall. He had locked onto her joy of painting and encouraged her to talk about it. She was obviously very talented, and he was surprised to find he was proud of her for forming a direction for her new life. 

“You will,” he asserted, and quickly added, “You were obviously born to be an artist. Your talent is tremendous. I would pay you to paint my face!” 

Again, there was that beautiful laughter. She reached up and grasped his chin, turning his face this way and that, making a show of examining him. “I don’t know,” she pondered. “There’s so much hair…” The feel of her slight fingers on his face was going to be his undoing. Thankfully she tapped the bridge of his nose and smiled wide. “I could paint a large flower here, in the center of your face,” and she traced a circle under his eyes and over the tip of his nose. With a laugh that came out more as a growl he grabbed her hand before she could pull it away and kissed the backs of her fingers, smiling as he shook his head and let their hands fall to the armrest between them. 

“A flower, no,” he teased, “But I wouldn’t mind one of those unicorns you showed me.” At that she laughed and laughed, seeming to be enjoying their banter more and more as time went on. 

They had two hours left in their flight to Anchorage, and another 45-minute flight after that to Fairbanks. The layover was going to be small, about an hour. They spent the next hour of the flight talking, joking, and getting to know each other better. It was certainly an experience for him. He had meant what he said, that he would have gladly struck up conversations with any of his past seatmates if they had been a woman as beautiful and engaging as she. He knew he shouldn’t be giving her the small random kisses but he couldn’t seem to help himself. With the last one, she shouldn’t have touched his face! It was only natural to take her hand and bring it to his lips. Her skin smelled pretty, a flowery scent that smelled like faded lotion. 

And when she started to yawn with barely an hour left in the flight, he offered her his shoulder once again, though this time he put up the arm rest and she snuggled up closer to his side, wrapping her right hand through the fingers on his own right hand and grasping his upper arm with her left. Their knees bumped and he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin material of her leggings, and silently prayed she wouldn’t see the slight tent in his lap. Goodness, but he couldn’t stop from kissing the top of her head again. 

She elicited from within him a desire to protect her, something he had never felt for a woman before. Perhaps it was the moment of closeness they shared during the turbulence, or the intimate conversations they had had for the past few hours. Or it could have been her recent past and how deeply it must have been affecting her. Either way, there was no way he was going to let her navigate the final airport on her own. 

But he was struggling with a dilemma he’d been thinking about on and off for the last few hours. With Meghan postponing the trip by a week, and with her having already purchased and scheduled tours and whatnot for the three of them, he had been considering asking Emma if she would like to go with him. She had already told him she had nothing scheduled. Her trip was a spur of the moment decision fueled by the desire to get away. Well, now she was going to get away, but what was she going to do when she got there? 

And there was the matter of the hotel. Fairbanks wasn’t known for its vacancies in the nicer hotels in the winter. A few closed down due to lack of summer tourists, and the ones still open were regularly filled with winter tourists hoping to see the Northern Lights. 

He paused mid-thought. Was he actually considering asking her if she would like to stay with him? Had he gone mad?! The room he had booked for the next week (and extended for an additional week after that since that was when Meghan and Stephen would be there) was a two bedroom, complete with kitchenette. So it wasn’t like they were going to be sharing a bed. But still—a 31-year-old woman staying with a 44 year old man, both unmarried. It truly sounded like a recipe for disaster, of what kind, he didn’t want to imagine. 

Then again, as soon as the thought had formed in his mind he knew there was no way he wasn’t going to at least give her the option. Her room and activities were all paid for if she went along with it, and he wasn’t sure how much spending money she had, so this would give her more… 

Look at him, trying to justify the mad idea. He was crazy, a fool. He didn’t even know how long she was staying in Alaska. What if it was more than a week? What would he do when Meghan and Stephen showed up at the door to the hotel room? “Hi sis, this is a woman I met on the plane. She’s amazing and I may be obsessed, but she will be gone in a few days.” 

For crying out loud, he was a goner. 

When they were a short distance from Anchorage and the announcement had come over the speaker he decided to wake her up. He’d rather she face landing awake than wake up partway through it and panic. Her hair was too much to resist so he reached around her face and slid his fingers into it, sliding them down, down, down, through that glorious length of hair. He brought his hand back up and let one finger trace her face from temple to chin as he quietly said her name. 

Once again she stirred, rubbing her face against the soft fabric of his sweater. She drew in a deep breath, still grasping his hand and his arm, and let it out as she turned her face up to see his. She sleepily blinked up at him and closed her eyes with a noncommittal “Hmmm” that told him she was indeed very tired. With her face turned up to his he turned slightly and pressed his lips to her forehead, saying her name into the line of hair there. “We will be landing soon, Emma.” 

Eyes still closed, she nodded and hugged his arm tighter to her body, pressing it to her chest. His left hand fell across his lap, just in case she opened her eyes and her gaze fell on a certain part of him. 

“Rory?” came her voice, soft with sleep. 

“Yes, Emma?” 

“I’ve really enjoyed our time together.” 

Rory smiled into her hair. “So have I, Emma.” 

 

Emma stayed there, awake but not moving, feeling his body shift with every breath he took. She used the opportunity to ponder the man he was, and how different he was from Keith. 

Keith was handsome; there was no doubt about that. At one time she had counted herself lucky for loving a man who looked like a Calvin Klein model. His hair was always perfectly done, his clothes looked straight out of a fashion magazine, and he kept his body in tiptop shape, always at the gym or the tanning salon. The irritating part, the part she chose to dwell on now, was he wanted her to do all those things and more. Although she had refused the tanning she had gone along with everything else, and now she felt more than ever that she had played the part of a puppet for him. 

Keith was obviously vain, and only thought about himself. She marveled at how different Rory was. One had only to picture the two men side by side to see the obvious differences—Rory being half a foot taller, and big and naturally muscular whereas Keith had to work for what scrawny muscles he had. Emma squeezed the bicep under her hand to reassure herself what she thought was true. It was nearly twice the size of Keith's, though she was fairly certain Rory wasn’t the gym type. She smiled slightly at the thought. If Rory were to workout at the gym he would soon be an intimidating figure for sure. 

But the differences that couldn’t be seen, or at least that were less apparent, had Emma pausing to contemplate her own naïveté. Keith would have jumped into his seat at the first bout of turbulence, whereas Rory felt it and grabbed her to him, protecting her and shielding her not only from the possibility of harm but, she was sure, from her own fear. He knew she would be afraid and he did the one thing that could shelter her—he had given her the shield of his own body. 

Keith was the type to push her into the path of a car to aid in his momentum out of danger. 

And the way Rory seemed to like to rub her arm, both during times of ordinary conversation and when she was anxious or afraid of the plane. She loved it, feeling his long fingers touch her in such a gentle manner. It was something she has sorely missed in her relationship with Keith but had learned to live without—soothing touches, soft strokes skin to skin. Keith didn’t like giving or receiving sentimental touches like that. 

She could feel the plane slowly making its descent towards the city and didn’t want to miss her chance to conduct her little experiment, so putting her thoughts aside for the moment she disentangle their hands and, without moving, started rubbing his forearm where it was exposed from his sleeve being pushed up his arm. He indeed seemed to be covered in hair, as his arms had a layer of soft, black hair covering them. She felt his chest expand with a deep breath and heard him exhale heavily. Glancing up she saw his head was back against his seat, his eyes were closed, and his thick eyebrows were drawn together. Alarmed, she stopped, keeping her hand on his forearm. 

Rory's eyes opened and he looked down at her. “Why did you stop?” 

Emma gave a little shrug. “You didn’t seem to enjoy it.” But she had to smile when he let his head fall back and his eyes closed once again. 

“I WAS enjoying it, very much so,” he assured her. So she turned her face more into his arm to smell him and resumed rubbing his arm, sometimes with her palm and sometimes just with her fingertips. She ran them from the cuff of his sweater down to his hand, which now rested close to her knee. She let her fingertips explore the length of his thumb, and then began to only use the tip of her index finger. Slowly she kept up a continuous path as it went up the side of a finger, across the tip of his fingernail and then down the other side before moving on to the next. She touched the hair on the back of his fingers, traced the veins on the back of his hand, felt the bones in his wrist and let her finger glide across the softer skin on the underside of his forearm. 

She kept up those movements, all the while inhaling his scent through the sleeve of his sweater, until the announcement came on about returning the trays and buckling the seat belts. She sat up and made to prepare for landing but Rory grasped her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. This time he held them to his mouth with his eyes closed, long enough to inhale and exhale against her skin. The effect it had on Emma's insides alarmed her and again it felt like her heart had suddenly forgot how to beat rhythmically. Rory opened his eyes and looked into her own, and lowered her hand while saying, “Thank you.” Emma's breath caught in her throat at the weight of his gaze, the deep tone of his voice and the thickness of his accent. 

With great effort she just nodded and drew her gaze away, readying herself for descent. But inwardly she was in turmoil. What the hell just happened? She wanted to see if he enjoyed her rubbing his arm but it appeared the effect she had on him was more of a sensual nature. 

Good heavens, what was she getting herself into? She was still thinking of him as a celebrity at times, like now—she just cuddled with and rubbed Rory McCann's arm. Surely she was dreaming. 

Rory asked her if she wanted the window open during landing and she told him she didn't mind, but grabbed for his hand anyway as soon as he had opened the blind. Below them she could see the city lights though above them it was pure darkness. She had heard sunlight barely made an appearance in Alaska in the middle of winter. She hoped the weather wasn't too cold in Fairbanks so that in the morning she could comfortably shop for a winter coat and perhaps some snow pants. 

The landing was rough but she did better than she had at take off because they were once again on solid ground. Rory asked her if she was okay and she nodded but she would also be very glad when they were off the plane. 

For Emma, off loading the plane was going smoothly until Rory stood behind her and retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment. The sheer size of him set her nerve endings to tingling. She glanced back at him and he smiled down at her with that pure Rory smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides. And to make matters worse for her, instead of holding her hand or guiding her forward with a hand on her elbow, he placed a large, warm hand on the curve of her waist and held it there until they passed through the airplane door. When he took it away she keenly felt its absence, as keenly as she felt that inappropriate reaction she had to him touching her body. 

Because they didn't have to worry about luggage before boarding the next plane they both started in the direction of the new terminal from which they would be departing for Fairbanks. They stopped at the lone coffee stand that was still in operation at that time of night and Rory ordered a large black coffee. When it was her turn to order she wrinkled her nose at him and ordered a coffee with sugar and extra cream. With both of them silently acknowledging this difference between them, he chuckled and waited at the cash register. He insisted on paying, though she walked back to the stand behind him and slipped a couple singles into the tip jar, thanking the young woman who had made the coffees. Then they wandered away to find a place to sit. Rory surprised her by reaching for her hand as they walked, but he only smiled at her and kept on walking. 

They settled on a bar height table and chairs set by a window overlooking the runways. Rory had brought along an old green baseball cap and he set it on his knee under the table. He was going bald, just one more thing he didn't have in common with Keith, but he was doing it very handsomely—the patch in the middle was combed back and he kept it all trimmed short. Emma marveled at how it didn’t detract from his good looks at all, at least not in her opinion. And she actually liked how he didn't keep his beard perfectly trimmed and neat. It appeared that at one time he had shaved everything off and then had let it grow in for perhaps a couple weeks. Where the beard stopped on his neck and more sparse, equally dark hair began that clumped again at the base of the V of his polo. 

Her eyes were there when Rory cleared his throat, and embarrassed, she realized he had said something and she didn't hear. 

He was smiling, though when he said, "I was saying when we get to Fairbanks we should find each other and I'll help you get things situated." 

"Yes, yes," she stammered, taking a sip of her coffee. "I would appreciate that, Rory." Cheeks burning, she looked out the window at the tarmac. "I don't suppose it would be too much to hope that we sit next to each other on this plane?" She pulled out the copy of her boarding pass and set it on the table. Rory did the same and shook his head. 

"Nope, not even close," he said, pointing to their seat numbers. "But would you mind if I asked to sit by you if there are empty seats?" 

Emma brought her eyes up to meet his and smiled. "I would like that very much." 

 

Rory couldn’t bring himself to ask Emma about the hotel, or about doing all those scheduled activities with him. He couldn't decide however if he was more scared that she would say no, or scared that she would say yes. He counted himself lucky that she had accepted his suggestion that they try to sit next to each other on their second plane. 

They sat talking for another twenty minutes, during which she held firmly to the warmth of her coffee cup. He wasn't sure but he supposed if she hadn't, he would have attempted to hold her hand again. He really had to stop doing that. It seemed to be more of a form of self-torture than a chivalrous action. And what had he been thinking, to hold her waist on the way out of the plane? He could have sworn his hand had burned through her sweater and straight to her skin, such was the reaction he felt along his nerves. But with her being so much shorter than him it had seemed a natural movement, as well as more courteous than following her so close that her backside would be pressed against his front. He couldn't say he hadn't thought of that, but at least that much he had resisted. 

Some of her hair had fallen over one shoulder and he watched it now, the way it moved and trembled as she talked. He loved the dark chocolate brown, and the way the waves shined differently in the lighting, revealing reds and golds in the depths of its color. And how it hung down her chest and flowed over the curve of her breast—

It was Emma's turn to clear her throat and Rory was pretty sure he turned as red as she did when she was caught looking at his chest. What a pair they made. The smile on her face—small, coy, and also slightly embarrassed—said she knew exactly what he had been staring at. 

With every thought circling the mutual attraction they seemed to be feeling, he took a long swallow of his coffee before smiling at her. His duty right now was to see her safely back to the plane and on to Fairbanks, not to ogle at everything about her he found beautiful. 

So when they both stood and gathered up their bags and cups he chose not to hold her hand. He needed her to know that he respected her, that he wasn't going to take advantage of her, and that he could trust him. And though he was pleasantly surprised when he felt her small hand slip into his as they walked, he didn't gloat. He barely acknowledged it, except for the barest squeeze, a gesture of thanks and recognition. 

When it was time to board and Emma had been waved through the gate she stood in the tunnel as Rory's boarding pass was checked. He asked the lady taking the passes if the flight was full and when she reassured him they were only at half capacity. She also said he was welcome to change seats but that if he had taken someone's seat and they wanted it back, he'd have to move. 

Thankful for this reprieve, he joined Emma and told her the news as they made their way to her seat. It was a larger plane with two columns of three seats on each side, so Rory took the window seat and gave Emma the middle. It wasn't long before the plane filled and they found no one asking them to move, so as the plane taxied towards the runway Rory put a hand on Emma's knee and she once again hugged his arm, this time letting out a loud sigh of contentment rather than outwardly showing her anxiety. But the grip she had on his hand and his upper arm said she was feeling it more than she was letting on so he patted her hand where it held onto his arm and pressed his lips to the top of her head as the plane shot down the runway and lifted into the air. 

She didn't talk but she didn't have to. He could feel her getting ready to say goodbye in the way she remained plastered to his side. Every once in a while he would feel her turn her nose to his arm and inhale deeply, and she took up her tracing of the skin on his hand and fingers. He felt like she was trying to memorize what she was feeling at that moment, and he could only guess what it was—the feeling of someone wanting to spend time with her without taking something from her; safe companionship; requited friendship. Every few strokes her whole hand would stroke his from wrist to fingertips and she would resume her tracing. It felt... sad. The way she was holding onto him said she wanted to remember what it felt like. 

Their time on these flights had been remarkable for him as well. He loved that she had wanted to get to know him as Rory McCann, everyday man, and not Rory McCann, AKA Sandor Clegane of a hit HBO show. She wanted to know about his family, his past, the foods he liked and his hobbies. He liked how she wasn't afraid to show him the mistakes she had made, to talk about how ridiculous her past few years had been, and to show him her love of art and face painting. He didn't think he would ever forget the way she had fed him the fantasy of the perfect wedding, of her in a wedding dress and later on of himself holding a child, a little girl, who was the perfect combination of the two of them. 

It was sad for him as well, though he had made up his mind—he might not be able to live those perfect daydreams, and he may never be that married father, but he could spend the next week with her, if she let him, making her happy and showing her the way a grown man was supposed to treat a woman. 

The thought of talking to her about his plans set his heart thumping faster. What would he do if she said no? He'd lose a hell of a lot of money on prepaid trips, that was for sure, since he wasn't going to be going on them alone. And he'd probably spend a lot of time in his big hotel room, reading newspapers and listening to quiet music, eating room service alone. He pictured himself doing that, wearing old sweats and a t-shirt while waiting for Meghan and Stephen, and felt his mood threaten to crash. What a miserable picture it made. 

But adding her to the picture... The immediate future turned from grayscale to rainbow and he was certain they would have the time of their lives. 

"Emma," he said, mentally preparing himself for her refusal. 

"Yes?" Came her quiet reply. The tracing stopped but she didn't look up at him. 

"I was thinking, maybe you'd like to--" The intercom came on at that moment to announce their imminent descent into Fairbanks. Emma didn’t give him a chance to continue. She sat up straight in her seat, her hair falling in front of her shoulders and effectively hiding her face from him. He couldn't tell if she was preventing him from speaking on purpose or if there was something else. She wasn't even holding his hand now, and the way she had her hands clasped in her lap told him not to attempt it. He didn't understand the change in her demeanor, but as the plane drifted down towards the ground he was sure he saw her wipe tears from her face. 

 

Emma was sad. She was beyond sad, she was devastated. It was like the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, using her in a juggling act that was going to leave her a shell of a person. In her mind she recounted all the recent things that had happened: 

She had spent weeks watching a wedding be planned around her, for her, and on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life, she was both incredibly disappointed and furious at being left at the alter. 

Then in a twist of fate she met a man of whom she had been a huge fan for years. 

Said man turned out to be nice, charming, and like a balm for her aching soul. 

Said man was also unavailable—out of her league, in a way—with them being so different, their lives on such different paths, that they were destined to say goodbye to each other when they left the airport in Fairbanks. 

But then said man began saying a sentence that she was sure would lead to certain disaster--"Maybe you'd like to..."--and rather than risk breaking her own heart (for surely Rory would never do such a thing) she had to distance herself from him. No more hand holding, no more touching, no more intimate, share-breathing-space conversations. 

She could sense his confusion and didn't wish to hurt him, but she felt they would both end up hurt if they continued on the path they were now on. 

As soon as the plane landed and passengers were cleared to retrieve their belonging, she stood and grabbed her bag out of the overhead compartment. He was barely getting out of his seat when she said, "I'll see you by the baggage claim," and fairly ran off the plane to keep him from touching her, being nice to her, showing her things she shouldn't want. 

He was going to help her find a hotel room and see her off in a taxi and they would never see each other again. That was the way it was going to be. That was the way it SHOULD be. Shouldn't it? 

She couldn't stand the uncertainty. She had been happier during those hours with Rory on the plane than she had been in a long time, and for that she would be forever grateful. Could she watch the next season of his show, see him on screen as the hardened, scarred character, knowing how he smelled in real life and how his hands felt wrapped around hers? Probably not without crying, she admitted to herself. 

Who would have thought her life would be turned upside down again in the short span of seven or eight hours, long enough to get from Chicago to Fairbanks, Alaska. 

She stood off to the side of the baggage claim, her back to the direction from which she got off the plane, and pulled out her phone. Her mom answered in a sleepy voice. 

"Hi mom, I made it." 

"Oh, great sweetie. How are you doing?" Emma closed her eyes against the tears. At least if her mom heard emotion she would assume it was due to Keith. 

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm just glad to be on the ground again." 

"Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound okay. How was your flight?" Emma blinked, but smiled at her mother's concern. 

"I really am okay, mom. And I slept for most of it. It was uneventful." She turned at the loud sound of the baggage claim being turned on and came face to chest with Rory, who stood above her with a look of concern on his face. He was so handsome, even when he wasn't smiling. "Mom, I gotta go. The bags are coming out." 

At her mom's sleepy goodbye she turned off the call and pocketed her phone. Rory's face remained emotionless, and she had no way of knowing just how much he had heard. But if he'd heard her tell her mom she slept for most of the flight she was sure she had hurt his feelings. But... She couldn't help but feel that maybe it was for the best. They were going to go their separate ways in a little while, what use was it to pretend that there was any connection between the two of them. 

Rory asked her in a flat voice, "What does your bag look like, I'll pull it off the belt." And he turned to the side, motioning for her to precede him to the baggage claim. She nodded and walked until she was a few feet away, seeing all the other passengers from the flight but noting that she knew none of them by face. She had truly been so absorbed in her friendship—or attraction, but really, who was counting—to Rory that she hadn't paid any attention to them. 

As the bags started coming around the conveyor she looked for hers, and watched Rory reach for a medium-sized, faded black duffel bag. If she had thought about it she would have guessed he would at least have nicer luggage, but he was always full of surprises. He brought the duffel back and dropped it by her feet, then looked up at her with those intense brown eyes, his face remaining a staid mask. Then they watched the bags coming around until she spotted the single suitcase her mom had bought for her the afternoon of the botched wedding, an obnoxiously bright, hard plastic suitcase made to look like it was covered in large rainbow paint splatters and spots. 

When she pointed at it Rory immediately went to retrieve it, his large form having to bend down to pick up the small suitcase. He leaned over to pull out the handle and set it on its wheels before walking it back to her. When he looked back up he had a smirk on his face which she had the impression he was only ruefully displaying. 

"I should have guessed," he said as he handed her the handle. 

"My mom bought it for me," she explained. "She said it would go along with my paint business." 

"So she knows you plan on opening it again?" Emma shrugged, not wanting to have another personal conversation that would make them feel like good friends. It was just going to hurt too much. 

"I mentioned that I was going to need something to do now, since... You know." She rolled her eyes, conveying to him that she didn't even want to mention the debacle. "And I think she got her hopes up. She thinks I'm an amazing artist." 

"Well, you are," Rory said immediately, and Emma was annoyed. She grabbed Rory's sweater sleeve and pulled him back towards the far wall. He barely had a chance to grab his duffel. 

When she looked up at him she had to take a step back, physically and emotionally. She was beginning to realize when things weren't going his way he chose to leave his face emotionless. Fine, she thought. But she needed to speak her mind and he was going to listen. 

"Rory, I can't do this—this thing that we have. This friendship. Think about it—I'm here for a week because I needed to get away from the fiasco my life turned into, and when I'm done I will go back to Chicago and start my face painting business. I will live with my parents until I can get a place of my own and life will go on." He opened his mouth but she held up her hand to stop him. "No, I need to say this, Rory." 

She was almost there. Two more things to say. 

"You will be here for a week and then your sister and nephew will join you and you will spend your time with your family. When you are done, whenever that is, you will return to God knows where, Scotland or wherever you need to be before you start filming again, and your life will go on. You'll spend weeks filming and when you're done you'll go on some ungodly busy publicity tour, and then you'll be living your life."   
Okay, the last thing, and the one that hurt the most. 

"Rory, I like you." His eyebrows rose and the creases on his forehead deepened. Heaven help her, he was so good looking. "I like you a lot, in fact. How could I not? If I set aside the fact that you're Rory McCann and a famous actor and known worldwide, you're just a fantastic guy. You're caring and considerate, funny, charming, protective, and just plain great. I would be an idiot not to see all that." She thought she detected a corner of his mouth raising but she was too flustered and hurried to really know. "I just got out of a relationship and, you see, I could really fall for you. But where would that leave me? When we go our separate ways, whenever we planned on that being, I would be so incredibly heart broken that it would crush me. Keith, I can let go of. You..." There were those damned tears again, and this time they spilled over. 

"I can't do that to myself, Rory. I am going to walk away now. I can take care of myself. Right now I need to make my own decisions and this is one of them." How could her heart feel like it was breaking? She wiped her face quickly and stood as tall as she could. "Thank you so much for making these last few hours some of the greatest I've ever had. You truly are a special guy, and I wish you the best." 

With that she grabbed a fistful of the front of his sweater, dragged him down for a chaste kiss to his hair-covered cheek, and turned and walked away without a backwards glance. It was for the better, because if she had turned he would have seen utter devastation on her face and the tears that were now coming in rivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I feel like this could have been written much better, but this is my first fanfic and I'm pretty much done with it. I go back and try to edit, but my brain doesn't want to cooperate.
> 
> Please enjoy regardless, and let me know what you think!


	3. Coming Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! I'm slowly editing this, and still contemplating taking it in a different direction than what I have it now (meaning rewriting the ending to continue the story).
> 
> As always, comments and criticisms are welcome, but be gentle! I cringe as I read this, knowing it's not quite up to par. But I'm learning, and this is my first completed fic! (So I'm actually quite proud of it lol)

Rory held on to the single sentence that was the most important of all the things she had said—she needed to make her own decisions. He wanted to swear and hit something and perhaps slam a few pints, but he also needed to be understanding. And he was, he admitted to himself. That arse of a man had taken away her autonomy and now she was taking it back. 

Apparently it involved hurting Rory but it had obviously hurt her just as much. 

He couldn't believe how strongly they had connected on the plane. Her goodbye was so final and he knew, just knew that if he chased her down he would be doing her a great disservice. There was no doubt in his mind that she would go with him, that she would do whatever he suggested in terms of sharing his schedule and perhaps even the blasted two-bedroom hotel rooms. But he would be taking away a part of her independence, and he wasn't sure if he would feel worse doing that, knowing he would be going against all those incredibly wonderful things she had just said about him. It would feel manipulative, and he would never do that to her. 

He watched her walk away, noting the sway of her wavy hair, the sensual curve of her backside, and the way her leggings encased her legs clear down to her ankles. She walked like a woman on a mission, and he supposed she was. She was going to spend the next week relearning how to make her own decisions, and for that he was immensely proud of her. 

With a heavy heart he watched as she rounded a corner and disappeared from his life forever. 

The hardest thing he had ever done was not to go after her. 

Instead he pulled out his phone and sent a text to his sister--"I'm in Fairbanks. Thanks for leaving me high and dry. See you in a week, love you." He wasn't in the mood to talk so he just tucked his phone back in his pocket and started off to find the rental business that had an SUV waiting for him. 

 

 

Emma was a mess. Her eyes were red rimmed, and her top lip was puffy from crying. Good lord, she looked awful. The hardest thing she had ever done was walk away from Rory. He really was such a great guy. She almost laughed at the cliché, but it was the perfect description of him. 

Her heart was once again warring with her mind. As she splashed water on her face willing the redness to go away, she contemplated what she had just done. She could see pros and cons for the direction in which she had just taken her life. 

She was indeed making her own decisions. She needed that, after spending more than a year with a man who insisted on making most of her decisions for her. She needed to know that she could make it on her own, a 31-year-old woman who was in the process of finding out who she really was. 

And it would be good for her to be on her own in a strange place. Lord knows she could use some constructive dilemmas in her life, and she was about to face a heck of a lot of them. For one, it was snowing outside and she only had a thin jacket in her bag, as well as a slouchy hat her mom had let her borrow. No gloves, no boots, no snow pants for standing outside to view the Northern Lights. And it was very likely she was going to need a better jacket. 

She fished out her wallet from her carry on bag and counted her cash. There was more than enough to cover basic necessities but the rest was going to have to go on her credit card. Thank goodness she had been able to bank the remaining money from exchanging the tickets. She had plenty in her bank account to cover any charges she made while she was here, and she anticipated there would be several large transactions. 

Her mind hadn't wandered off far enough from the subject at hand and it quickly returned to the cons of leaving Rory the way she did. She recounted the list of admirable qualities in the man that she had told him in her monologue and closed her eyes in pain. To walk away from a man such as him was so difficult. 

But really, it had to be done. But really, did it? Her mind and her heart were at war, with her heart not crying out that Rory was going to be alone in Fairbanks for a whole week before his sister arrived. Alone. With no company. And a whole list of things his sister had planned for them to do, bought and paid for. She was certain he had been about to ask her to spend time with him when he had spoken on the last plane, just before their descent into Fairbanks. But she knew even then that it would lead to heartbreak. 

But surely she could handle heartbreak, as she had done so before? Or would it be as she had told him—that no, she would not survive another. She really would be crushed... 

But irreparably? 

Try as she might, she couldn't decide. Thinking on these warring thoughts, she decided she still had a lot of dilemmas facing her currently that she would need to solve, starting with a hotel room, which she was painfully aware she should have arranged before leaving Chicago. She ran a brush through her hair and patted her face, satisfied that the redness and puffiness had at least subsided slightly, and gathered her things. 

Once outside the restroom she quickly found a bank of telephones for public use and a list of hotels, all with a series of dollar signs next to them. One dollar sign must have meant the cheapest hotel and three dollar signs meant the most expensive, so she started with all the hotels that had a single dollar sign. 

It wasn't long before she found one, $60 per night and no room service. The man on the phone sleepily informed her it had a small kitchenette but that the fridge currently wasn't working. She informed him that would be all right, and he told her she could pay when she arrived. 

She thought of the taxi ride to the hotel and knew that Rory likely would have insisted on giving her a ride himself in his rental. He would have told her not to trust anyone, and that she wasn't safe being alone in a car with a strange man after midnight, taxi driver or not. 

The thought made her smile sadly. That protective streak in him had become apparent several times on the flights, with his reactions to her talk of Keith and then the turbulence incident. 

No, she couldn't think of such things. She had to focus on getting her life back on track and enjoying herself on this mini-vacation. 

A mini-vacation which felt like it had started the moment she laid eyes on Rory McCann. Handsome Rory McCann, caring Rory McCann, funny Rory McCann... 

She leaned her head against the phone cubicle and sighed. She couldn't do this to herself. She had to get her act together and forget him. 

But even as she thought those words—forget him—she knew it would be impossible. Rory had left an indelible impact on her heart and no force would ever remove it. Memories of their conversations, their touches, the short embraces they had shared and the connection between them would likely warm her on lonely nights, and she would indeed cherish them forever. 

Frustrated and slightly disgusted with herself for beginning to fall for a guy so quickly, she picked up her things and turned to walk towards the front doors of the airport, but stopped short. 

Rory was standing outside on the sidewalk, his duffel and carry on at his feet, likely waiting for a shuttle. He still had on the green baseball cap but now wore a sensible men's winter jacket and red scarf around his neck. She couldn't help but smile. The whole ensemble—the green hat, red scarf, and dark gray winter jacket—made him look like he belonged in Alaska. Aside from the hat, he had come prepared. And as he stood off to the side with his back turned slightly towards her, all of her resolve melted away. 

She pictures his hands, now in his pockets, gently rubbing at her arm as she was afraid on the plane in Chicago. The long fingers, and hair on the back of his hands, the difference in size between her hands and his. She could picture them so clearly. It was the same with his arms. Since she had spent so much time on the plane resting against his side, smelling his scent through the fabric of his sweater, feeling the muscles of his upper arm under her hand, and that brief moment where she had been wrapped in his arms at 30,000 feet—she knew of his arms. 

She knew of his whole body—the length of his legs touching the seat back in front of him on the plane, his height as he nearly rubbed his head on the ceiling of the plane, the hair that covered him and that had fascinated her where she could see it inside the neckline of his shirt. She had indeed spent much of the last hours with him examining, memorizing, all aspects of him. 

But most importantly she knew that he made her happy. He cared for her, she knew. She felt it in nearly everything he said—from offering to close the blind before they left Chicago to pulling her bag off the baggage claim for her, and everything in between. There had been nearly nothing that he had said or done that hadn't been to benefit her in some way. And having never felt that way from the treatment of a man before, she already felt its absence keenly. 

A whisper of a thought entered her mind, as fluid and active as the clouds of breath he exhaled into the cold Alaskan winter night. What if—and this was a big what if—the decision she made next was to go with him? 

After all, she would still be making up her own mind. Rory obviously would have had no active part in it, as she hadn't let him speak when she had told him she couldn't stand to have her heart broken again. 

But it would be her, exercising her independence by choosing to spend the next week with someone whose company she truly enjoyed, and in a way treating herself to a brief moment of a life she may never have, ensuring she had memories to sustain her for the rest of her days. 

She wasn't so naïve to believe that she may never find someone, a local Chicago man, to love and settle down with someday. But right now, here, in Alaska, a mere two days after being jilted and humiliated, she could choose to be happy and not have a second thought about it. 

And she wasn't saying anything significant would happen between them. She was absolutely positive that Rory would respect her, and that he would be the perfect gentleman. How did she know this? She wasn't sure, but she felt it, like a truth reverberating inside her bones. The thought gave her courage. 

But could she stand the heartbreak that was sure to come? As much as she didn't want to contemplate that thought, she knew she would have to eventually, so it might as well be now. And the truth was, she knew she would. She didn't know how, and she didn't know how long it would take, but although saying goodbye to Rory after a week would absolutely crush her she knew that deep down inside there was a strong woman who would push through the worst of it and come out breathing on the other side. 

Emma's smile fell from her face as she realized what she had just done. She had convinced herself to take this plunge, and the thought immediately terrified her. 

But it was at that moment that she saw him become aware of the airport shuttle coming up the drive, and he inhaled deeply and exhaled a sigh that said he was weighted down by many things. She knew one of them was her. 

Quickly she hurried out the first double door, just as the shuttle was coming to a stop in front of Rory. The second double door was opening as he pulled the handle on the rear door of the shuttle. 

"Rory!" She called, and his hand paused on the open door. It took him a second longer to turn around than she expected, but she refused to think about why. 

When he turned he was wearing the mask. She felt the hurt radiating off him, the disappointment. But there was more curiosity radiating from his eyes and that too gave her courage. She watched as he tossed his bags in the back of the shuttle and leaned down into the shuttle to ask the driver to wait for a couple minutes before turning back to her. But he didn't move, so she stepped towards him, until they were a few feet apart. 

"Rory, I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted. And she didn't. What she would have done to be able to tell the future at that moment... "I think I want one thing so I decide on it, but then other possibilities rotate through my mind and then suddenly I want something else. But I'm afraid of what will happen so I talk myself out of it, and..." She sighed and looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts before looking back into his eyes. 

"I'm tired of being a puppet. I'm tired of thinking about what a waste the last few years of my life have been. I'm ready to move on, but that may also mean reinventing myself a bit and I wasn't sure if there would be room for a small amount of time with you in that picture." 

She flung her hands up in frustration. "I don’t want to miss out on an opportunity to have a great time, to enjoy life, and to spend time with someone who I feel has become a good friend.” There, she said it. But she needed to clarify, as the look on his face hadn’t changed. 

“I am making a decision, Rory,” she said, taking a step forward. Then another when he didn’t react, until finally she was close enough that she could touch him if she wanted. And she stepped off the precipice and into unknown territory. 

“Will you spend the next week with me? Be my companion, my friend, and someone I can trust?” She couldn’t think of any other way to show him what he meant to her, or to show him the vulnerable side of her after she had just walked away from him. So she held out her hand and looked him square in the eye. “Please?” 

 

Rory didn’t know what to say. His emotions were in such turmoil. This woman had thrown him off his axis and he wasn't sure it was the best idea to commit to a week in her company. 

No, it wasn't the best idea but did he have any choice? Not really. He knew he would take her offer of companionship, had felt the hope bloom in his chest as soon as he heard his name, and had kept his face a mask of indifference in case she had stopped him to ask for a ride or something equally as insignificant. 

But he smiled now, a small smile, and reached out to take her small hand in between both of his. Taking a moment to organize his thoughts, he looked down at where her hand had disappeared in his and thought for a moment on what he should say. 

Here was this amazing young woman who had just asked to have some fun with him because she was getting over being a jilted bride. This woman—caring, emotive, creative, and colorful—had made him laugh so many times, and had made him feel so many things over the last few hours, that there wasn't anything left to say but yes. 

And so he nodded, and she gave him an unsure, tremulous smile. He figured she was just as cautious as he was. They both knew what they were getting into. There was a connection between them, and this week was going to be both the best week and the worst week of their lives, because they both knew there would be a goodbye at the end of it. 

So he let her hand slip out of his and grabbed her bag before opening the door of the shuttle for her. From now on he would attempt to keep things chaste, to touch her as little as possible which was going to be achingly hard, especially as he caught sight of her very alluring bottom as she climbed up into the shuttle. 

Lord help me, he mused. 

He directed the shuttle to take them to the car rental business and asked Emma what her plans were, and whether she had reserved a hotel room. 

"I did, a hotel called The Iris Inn. It's supposed to be downtown." Rory thought he saw the driver's eyes dart up at him in the rearview mirror but they returned to the road too quickly for him to be sure. 

"When we pick up my rental I'll put it into my GPS and we'll find it together," he said with a smile. It was the least he could do. She had just agreed to spend a week with him, and if he could get through this week with his heart intact he'd be surprised. 

The night was overcast and it looked as though it had snowed recently. Noting her attire, he asked, "Do you have any winter gear?" He had brought everything he'd need to be outside viewing the Northern Lights and to play outside with his nephew, so he was all set. But he had ascertained there was no way she could have fit boots and snow pants into that small suitcase he had dragged off the baggage claim. 

She turned to look at him with a chagrined smile, her hair sliding over the fabric of her sweater. "I don't," she replied, "But I had expected to go shopping when I arrived." Her mouth curved up into that self deprecating smile of hers. "I really rushed into this trip and didn't think anything through." 

Rory chuckled. That was an understatement. But at least she had reserved a hotel room for the night. 

They rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Rory surreptitiously watched her as she took in the sights. He wasn't as impressed with the bland buildings and snow as he was the curve of her cheek, which he had now seen too many times covered in tears. She kept her hands clasped on her lap and he ached to hold them in his own, knowing he would feel the familiar softness of her skin under his. And if she was anxious or uncertain, he wished to stroke the skin of her arm in the way that had soothed her on the flight. But that was off limits now. The game they had played at on the planes was now going to be chaperoned by civility. 

It was going to be hard, he knew. That long brown hair was asking to be touched, and he wondered how it would feel sliding through his fingers. And her lips—so emotive when she was speaking, so sexy when she smiled at him—were wide and soft, and he had thought more than once about how they would feel to kiss, to feel under his own. He had been lucky on the plane that she hadn't noticed his state of arousal. He saw many cold showers in his immediate future. 

When they arrived at the rental business he tipped the shuttle driver and escorted Emma into the building without touching her. She stood off to the side with her suitcase and bag while he spoke with the attendant about the vehicle he had rented. It was to be a mid-sized SUV to handle all the gear and bags he had been expecting with Meghan and Stephen, but they had upgraded him to a large truck for free, for lack of vehicles. He didn't mind at all, seeing as how larger vehicles generally fit his large frame more comfortably. It would mean sitting further apart from Emma, but he really couldn't think of such things. 

He could feel her eyes on him and while the attendant went to retrieve the key, Rory turned to look at her. He was surprised when they locked eyes but she didn't look away. She wasn't smiling, but nor did she look unhappy. She looked... expectant. Perhaps a bit unsure. She blinked and her gaze remained unwavering. He wished he knew what she was thinking. 

Too soon the attendant returned to escort them back to a large warehouse where the vehicles were cleaned and prepared for clients. When they were loaded and ready to drive away Emma finally spoke. 

"Should I drive?" She asked, this time with a smile on her face. 

"Why?" Asked Rory, confused. 

"Don't people in Scotland drive on the left side of the road?" 

As Rory looked at her, her smile widened and he realized she was teasing him. For the first time in a while he laughed out loud and looked sideways over at her. 

"I am capable of driving on the right side. I HAVE done this before," he assured her. 

But Emma chuckled and said, "Okay, but just let me know. I've been driving in America all my life." She smiled, pulling her lower lip into her mouth in an expression so sexy he had to look away. But he laughed all the same and put the name of her hotel into the GPS on the car. 

When they arrived at the hotel he pulled into a parking spot but didn't turn the vehicle off. He didn't even put the car in park. 

"Emma," he began, but he didn't even know what to say. The building was so run down that the siding was falling off in places. The windows on the first floor were all covered in ice and frost, and half of the lit sign out front was dark. Not to mention it WAS downtown, just as she had said, but it must have been in the seediest part of Fairbanks. Half the streetlights didn't work, there were potholes all over the roads, and he had seen more than a handful of shifty looking people walking through the neighborhood. 

"Rory, I reserved a room here." He glanced at her and could see that she did indeed see the same sights he was seeing. 

"That doesn't mean you have to stay here!" He said it louder than he had intended, but he was getting upset just looking at the place. He looked at her incredulously, not able to believe what he was hearing. 

Emma looked frustrated, though. She didn't appear to be impressed with the place either, but he knew she was tired. "It's just for one night, I promise I'll find another room in the morning." 

He looked at her then. "You can't possibly be saying you're going to stay. Look at this place, Emma—it's a dump!" She did look around again then, and he knew what she saw. Despite it being winter, there was trash everywhere. A spot to the side of the front door was covered in old cigarettes and ash, and the bottom glass on the front door was shattered though intact, and appeared to be being held together by duct tape. 

But Emma only shook her head. "I will be here tomorrow if you'd like to come by," she was saying, but he was hardly listening. The door of the inn opened and a man staggered out. His clothes were dirty, his pants were sagging and he appeared to be intoxicated. She continued, "I'm going to take a cab to a store and do some shopping in the morning and then I'll be back before lunch. Maybe we can do something then?" 

Rory was aghast. This was ridiculous. 

"Then I'm going to stay with you, Emma." He didn't even look at her as he said it. He couldn't believe she was willing to subject herself to this hotel. If the outside looked this disgusting he could only imagine what the inside looked like. He doubted there was a security guard and felt for sure the possibility of a burglary while she was sleeping was highly likely. 

The man outside was fumbling with the front of his clothes. 

"Rory, no!" Emma reached over as he fairly threw the truck into Park. His hand was on the key when she grabbed at his jacket. "I'll be fine, really! You can't just stay with me because... because..." She was grasping, he could tell. And she was doing it while her eyes darted to the windows, the door, the sign—all the things he had noted. 

Emma sighed and looked like she was about to say something when they discovered the man had turned toward the building and has started to relieve himself on it. 

"On second thought, YOU'RE coming to MY hotel," he said, disgusted that she was arguing for this hell hole. It was probably infested with mice, bed bugs and God knows what else. 

But he also knew she would be mad that he was taking control, so as he put the truck in Reverse to pull out and she fumed beside him, he stopped and spoke softly to her. "Emma," he said, wanting her to look at him. When she didn't he reached over and pried her arm away from where it had been crossed over her chest with the other. He pulled it closer to him until he was able to take her hand inside his own. She looked at him then and saw that her mouth was pursed and her eyebrows were drawn together. Green Fire would be a good term for her eyes, he thought, because she was indeed obviously quite mad. 

"Emma, you'll walk into this place and walk out with lice. Tomorrow we can look for a new hotel for you but for now I have a nice two-bedroom hotel room reserved and you'll have plenty of privacy." He was speaking softly and decided he needed to address the elephant in the room. "I know you don't want a man making your decisions for you, so would you please consider doing this tonight as a favor to me and tomorrow I'll help you find a much nicer hotel?" 

He even rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and felt her fist soften. She looked down at their hands and sighed again—she was doing that a lot lately—and she opened her hand so he could wrap their fingers together. Her face softened and she looked out the window once again, unfortunately to where the man was finishing up and attempting to replace his clothes. 

It was a handful of seconds before she gave a small nod and settled back into her seat, although she took her hand back and didn't look over at him. He figured she was disappointed that her plan hadn't worked out, and probably a bit miffed that she had to listen to the advice of a man. But at least it was him, and she knew she could trust him. Otherwise she never would have agreed to go back to his hotel room. 

Tonight was going to be a very long night indeed. 

 

 

Emma was so frustrated. That hotel had been disgusting, but she would have walked into it and said goodbye to Rory for the night if it had meant she'd save face. But the man urinating on the side of the door sealed the deal for her, and apparently for Rory as well. Though she had been surprised he had insisted she come back to the hotel with him, she had also been relieved, but disappointed in herself for the turn of events. She was NOT supposed to be relieved that a man had taken charge of the situation. She WAS supposed to be making her own decisions, asserting her own independence. 

So why did it feel so good, so right, that Rory had made the decision for her? Sure, he had asked for it as a favor, but she knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer. And for the moment, she was okay with that. She WAS going to talk herself into being okay with it. 

But really she knew why it felt all right to let him make the decision. He was different from Keith—whereas Keith would have made decisions that solely benefitted himself without regard for her feelings or her own desires, Rory was making decisions for her benefit. There was a huge difference in there, one that was now not lost on Emma. 

So wanting to think of something else, she noted that Rory did indeed know how to drive on the right side of the road. He seemed completely at ease, in fact. Following the GPS instructions meant they were pulling up to the 5-story hotel in no time. 

Rory parked and before Emma realized what he was doing Rory was opening her door and helping her down from the tall truck. “Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. It wasn’t the first time he had done something nice for her but it was the first time a man had opened a vehicle door for her. She liked it, she decided. 

He also carried all of their luggage and bags, though it hardly seemed like work with him doing it. And he still managed to open the door to the hotel for her as well. She could feel him changing her mind about some things just by being himself. A girl could get used to a guy opening doors and carrying bags for her. 

Emma stood next to Rory as he handed the desk clerk his ID, and she felt so small, so feminine, with her height being so much less than his. She knew the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder. She glanced sideways up at his face and he looked down at her, a small smile on his face that wrinkled the corners of his eyes, and gave her a little wink of reassurance. She couldn’t help but smile back. He was adorable, and try as she might she still felt like pinching herself. Did she really commit to spending a week with Rory McCann? The thought made her smile broader, which obviously made Rory smile wider as he looked back at the clerk to collect the room cards. 

The young man behind the counter had realized who was standing in front of him, and he was looking up at Rory with something akin to idol worship as he handed over the keys. The thin young man stammered a “Enjoy your stay” before catching a glimpse of the short woman standing at Rory's side. 

Flustered, the man, who’s nametag read Clark, suddenly blurted out, “Would you and your wife be wanting a room service menu for the morning?” 

Emma felt herself blush furiously but Rory appeared calm and collected as he pointed out to Clark that they were indeed not married, but that yes, they would like a menu for the morning. 

When that was done and they were in the elevator heading to the 5th floor, Emma turned to Rory and couldn’t help but smirk. “Does that happen often?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest. 

Up until that point Rory had been the perfect gentleman and she had to admit she missed his little touches. At some point between the airport and now she had expected to feel his hand on her waist, guiding her and letting her feel his presence. But it hadn’t happen, much to her chagrin. 

But now he looked down at her, his gaze focused before suddenly turning smoldering as he leaned down to tell her, “I’ve never invited a woman to my room before.” Then he raised a single eyebrow, pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and smiled at her before returning to his full height and looking at the doors with his own smirk. 

“Touché,” she whispered as she willed her heart to slow down. 

At that the doors slid open and Rory motioned for her to precede him out of the elevator, but he followed close behind her until they found the room number. 

Once inside he let her choose which of the two bedrooms she wanted (she chose the smaller) and offered her first use of the shower if she wanted one. She gratefully accepted, hastily unpacked her suitcase on the queen sized bed and gathered her toiletries. A quick shower would feel fantastic after all the travelling, crying and sweating of situations she had done that day. 

When she got into the bathroom she saw that Rory had already tucked his toiletries onto the corner of the counter, and though she felt sneaky she couldn’t help but examine them. There was a comb, a razor (why?? He was so hairy!), a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, a bottle of shampoo and a small bottle of cologne. She picked up the cologne and opened it, inhaling deeply when she smelled the scent she had been smelling on him all day, and selfishly committed the name to memory, unwilling to admit to herself why. 

She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the hot shower, letting the water run over her body like a soothing massage. She looked down at herself, mentally evaluating the level of allure she thought she had to the opposite sex. 

Her breasts were normal, perhaps on the small side, and Keith had always teased her about her “pudgy stomach.” Come to think of it, he’d also said her hips were too wide and her butt was too big. No wonder he was always dragging her to the gym. 

But when she looked at herself she tended to accept what she saw, if not like it. She wasn’t thin but she also wasn’t overweight. She smiled to herself—if she was a man she’d think she was attractive! 

Her thoughts turned to the turn of events today but she refused to rethink her decision earlier. Instead she mentally affirmed her choice, telling herself that spending a week with Rory was going to be amazing, and that she’d deal with the feelings behind saying goodbye, once she had said goodbye. 

She reached out of the shower and grabbed a towel, and at that moment realized she hadn’t brought any extra clothes into the bathroom with her. Well… this would be embarrassing. 

She quickly toweled off, squeezed out her hair and wrapped the bath towel around her torso. Then she took a deep breath and cracked the door open. 

 

 

Rory heard the door between their rooms open and looked up from the table where he was inspecting the room service menu. He knew she would be freshly showered and had been trying unsuccessfully to not think of her being in the shower. Naked. 

But he didn’t expect to see her face peek around the corner of the door. “Are you all right?” He stood, but her bare arm shot out the door and she held up her hand to stop him. 

“No!” She fairly yelled. “I forgot my clothes in the bedroom, that’s all. Could you turn around, please. I’m going to go to the bedroom and dress in there.” He could see from where he was that her cheeks were red, but between her obvious embarrassment and the steam pouring out of the bathroom he couldn’t tell if she was blushing. 

He did turn around, however, and caught the most tantalizing glimpse of her in the reflection on the window, of her wrapped in a white towel and running from the bathroom to the bedroom. But ever the gentleman, he didn’t turn around until he heard her door close. Then not a minute later her bedroom door cracked open and she peeked out, this time with that smile on her face that said she was about to admit to doing something silly again. 

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, though he was smiling. She was a mess and he couldn’t help but have fun with it. All he could see was her head and her wet hair, nearly black after her shower, hanging down beside the door jam. 

She scrunched up her nose and he knew she didn’t want to say anything, but—“Do you have an extra t-shirt I could borrow?” She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe there was yet something else she wasn’t prepared for. “it appears as though I didn’t pack anything to sleep in.” 

Rory smiled then, as the idea of her wearing his shirt intrigued him. But he nodded and retrieved a plain gray t-shirt from his suitcase. 

When he got to the door he held the shirt out just past her arms length, smiling all the while. “Rory!” she loudly admonished him, but she laughed, and he stepped closer to hand her the shirt. He could see more of her now—her whole bare arm, her naked shoulder. This was really going to be a long night. 

Emma closed the door and because he wasn’t sure when she was going to come out—or if she was at all—he got himself a paper cup with water and sat down sideways on the couch so he could look out the window at the view behind the hotel. Everything looked so cold and barren. There were only a handful of lights that he could see because the hotel, which was called a lodge, sat on a piece of land on the outskirts of the city, likely to maintain the wilderness feel of its decorations and reputation. The lights were likely homes of people who chose not to live within the city limits. 

That idea appealed to him—living on a remote piece of property, close enough to a city where he could get essentials but far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to hear any traffic. And he certainly did not want to be able to see any neighbors. Ten, maybe fifteen acres would be a good amount of land, he thought. 

And while he was daydreaming about settling down he might as well imagine a few dogs running around the property, a couple canoes leaning up against the shed, perhaps a small garden beside the house. But would this scene take place in Scotland? His homeland? 

Or here in the state’s? He had seen some spectacular views of America, some amazing places with stunning scenery. 

And then the image of Emma dressed in white, sunlight sparkling on her upturned face and the breeze rustling her hair, appeared in his mind and he mentally kicked himself. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him if that was where it was leading with all the daydreaming. 

Just then Emma opened her bedroom door and she stepped out wearing his shirt. She stopped just outside the door, finding him in the dim light of the room. She smiled and walked over to where he was sitting, situating herself on the opposite side of the couch. He chuckled, as his shirt covered her nearly to her knees. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, and she smiled ever so sweetly back at him, those perfectly full lips spreading over her teeth. 

“Yes, thank you so much for letting me borrow your shirt. I can’t believe I didn’t bring any pajamas.” 

"I can," Rory teased. Then he smiled. “We will go shopping in the morning after breakfast. You said you needed snow gear? What else?” 

Emma nodded. “Snow gear,” she agreed, “And perhaps a nightgown. And I'd like to call around for a hotel room.” She looked down at her hands as she said that. “I found that room at the other hotel because it was cheap.” 

Rory grunted at that. “I don’t think you should, Emma.” She looked up at him with a startled expression but before she could say anything he went on. “Your bedroom would just remain vacant until Meghan and Stephen get here so you might as well stay here. If we are going to spend time together over the next week it would also make that more convenient.” He waited for her to respond but she just looked at him with wide eyes. 

He sighed, thinking he may have gone too far, and tried to back track a bit so he wouldn't sound like a creep. “Would you please consider it? It will save you money, we'll be able to plan our trips more easily, and I'll enjoy your company." He said those matter-of-factly, hoping she would understand that he wasn't being a lecher. "I’m going to go take my shower.” He gave her a small smile and stood. She hadn’t moved a muscle since he started talking about her staying at this hotel so he figured he would give her some time alone to think about it. 

He retrieved clean clothes from his bedroom but just before he entered the bathroom he could have sworn he saw her smell the sleeve of his shirt. The woman was a puzzle. 

He closed the bathroom door and set his clothes on the counter. Her clothes were in a small , neat pile behind the door and her toiletries were neatly lined up on the opposite side of the counter from his. They portrayed an interesting picture—it had been years since he had last occupied a residence with a woman, and his black and gray items were so different from her brightly colored bottles and hairbrush. 

He picked up her bottle of body wash and opened it, and immediately smelled the sweet but subtle scent he had smelled on her earlier. He was able to close his eyes and picture her perfectly as she was at that moment; wearing his t-shirt and sitting on the couch with her legs curled beneath her. It was an image he wouldn’t soon forget. 

Replacing the body wash, he showered in record time, pulling on a pair of loose sweat pants and another t-shirt. Leaving his feet bare, he added his dirty clothes to her pile and set the bathroom back to rights before opening the door and turning off the lights. He was greeted by the sight of her still seated on the couch, but with her head resting against the back and her eyes closed. She was breathing deeply and he wasn’t surprised to discover she had fallen asleep. It had been an incredibly long day for her, and it had caught up to her while he was in the show. 

Instead of letting her wake up sore with a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch, he bent and slid an arm under her legs and one behind her back. She stirred slightly so he shushed her and picked her up, cradling her to his chest. She inhaled deeply from where her head rested against his neck, and her other arm came up to rest on his shoulder. “Bedtime, Emma,” he grunted, and carried her to her bedroom. It took some doing but he managed to pull back her covers before laying her gently down on the pillow and pulling up the blanket. She sighed again, looking as stunningly beautiful in sleep as she did when awake. 

He bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Goodnight Emma,” he whispered, and headed himself off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By "first completed fic" I mean, this is finished but I am slowly editing it to post the remaining chapters, which right now stands at 9 :-)


	4. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for the kind comments! This is my first true fic, and it holds a special place in my heart. It's not perfect, but what fic is?...

Emma woke to darkness and initially wasn’t sure what time it was. She also didn’t know how she had gotten from the couch to the bed but blushed when she realized there could only have been one way. Then she blushed more as she wished she could have remembered him carrying her. 

Rather than dwell on that thought, she sat up and stretched her muscles, then remembered she was wearing Rory’s shirt. She knew it had been clean when he gave it to her but she smelled it anyway now, holding the neck over her nose and mouth and inhaling deeply. It did indeed smell like him, and oh, how she enjoyed that scent. 

She stood and walked to the door but heard no sounds coming from the other side so she walked into the kitchen and saw the clock on the microwave said 7:46. She must have gotten about six hours of sleep, but it would be enough to get her through today. Perhaps tonight she would get more rest. 

In the faint light put off by the lamp above the oven, she found a set of matching mugs in a cabinet along with everything needed to make a really bad cup of coffee. So she quietly put a cup of water in the microwave and opened a single serve packet of coffee grounds. 

Tonight. The word reminded her that Rory had asked her to stay here, in the hotel with him. She didn’t know if that was a good idea. Spending a week with him sounded great but LIVING for a week with him… Once again she found herself questioning if her heart could take it. There definitely was a connection, dare she say attraction, between them. She didn’t question his motives for asking her to stay, but she did question her—and his, actually--self-restraint. 

Just before the microwave dinged she opened it and retrieved her cup, dunking the tea bag of coffee into the cup while mulling the idea of self-restraint. 

If she stayed here… she was almost too embarrassed to think the thought.. If she stayed here was a physical relationship inevitable? She had already admitted to herself that she missed his touches, his soothing fingers on her skin. And she wanted to feel his large hand press against her waist as he had done on the plane. And Lord but she had enjoyed touching him, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, feeling the hairs on his skin tickle her finger tips. Even the time she had traced a circle on his face, teasing him that she was going to paint a flower on his nose. The memories were precious, but could she resist making more? 

She tossed the coffee bag into the trash and finished her cup with a couple packets of sweetener and a healthy helping of powdered creamer. After stirring it and putting the spoon in the sink she walked over to the couch and sat in the darkness there. 

The scene out the window looked the same as last night, and she briefly wondered at the tenacity of people who chose to live in a place that was so dark for so many hours of the day. 

Returning her thoughts to Rory and the prospect of living with him for a week, she had to smile at the thought. It WAS appealing, in many ways. Though she would want to pitch in with the hotel fee, this room had a complete working kitchen. She could buy food and cook for them, which would save her money on meals. And she was sure there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want a home cooked meal. Plus she could paint by the window next to the dining table, and get in some practice. And if they went everywhere together, he already had a rental. Not to mention the fact that all their free time could be spent enjoying each other's company. 

She was going to tell him yes today, and she had just decided when she heard the door to his room open quietly. She froze as he walked out, barefoot and only wearing sweatpants. He sleepily glanced around and, she presumed not seeing anyone because she was still on the dark couch, spent a couple minutes in the bathroom. 

He walked out still rubbing at his sleepy eyes and she chose to stay quiet, instead just watching him as he assumed he was alone. And she grew warm, her eyes opening wide, as he walked into the kitchen and the light revealed to her for the first time his naked torso. He was indeed covered in hair: an all over dusting on his back and a more concentrated patch on his chest. It was light on his neck but thickened on his chest, where it tapered down to disappear in the waistband of his low slung sweatpants. Emma felt positively sinful—sitting in the dark while spying and lusting for a man who didn’t know she was there. 

Then she watched him face the counter, lean his hands on the edge and drop his head. He sighed heavily and for a moment he appeared to be a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was time to make her presence known. 

“Rory,” she said quietly. He turned around quickly, his eyes moving through the darkness until they settled on her sitting on the couch. He still looked half asleep. She stood and walked into the kitchen, trying not to be distracted by him. But it was hard—he was so tall, he just towered over her. And there he was, so much skin showing, with muscled arms and those faint lines on his hips showing where those man muscles sloped down into his sweatpants. Her mouth might have watered if it hadn’t gone so dry. 

But his face drew her eyes, his gaze being so intense. She figured it was that he we still half asleep, but as she watched, his tired eyes roamed over her hair that now hung over her shoulders, her face, her chest and all the way down to her toes before returning to settle on her mouth. And when he took a deep breath and sighed out his nose, his lips pursing and then relaxing as though he was getting frustrated, she abruptly turned to get the coffee supplies out again. 

“Good morning,” she said without turning around, though she went about making him a cup of coffee despite not asking him if he wanted one. He LOOKED like a morning coffee type of guy. 

“Good morning,” he said gruffly. She glanced at him and he had backed up against the counter on the other side of the kitchen, apparently nonplussed about not wearing a shirt. Instead he stood with his arms crossed over his chest watching her the whole time she made him a cup of black coffee. 

When she turned to throw the coffee bag away beside him she stopped to look up at him, ready to thank him for carrying her to bed the night before. But she never got the chance, as he suddenly but gently pulled her into his arms and wrapped his arms around her. She had no choice but to lay her head against his chest and stand there as he lowered his head. She felt his face rest against the top of her hair. His breath warmed her scalp and his arm held her, his hand pressed against her waist. His other hand began a slow, soothing massage of her shoulders and upper back, and it felt only natural to wrap her arms around his waist and give in to his ministrations. 

He sighed. She sighed, and his chest hairs tickled her nose. It was the best, most comfortable hug she had ever experienced. And she could tell that that is what he meant it to be—a hug. The sweetness of it almost brought tears to her eyes. 

“Thank you Rory,” she whispered. He huffed into her hair. 

“You can stop thanking me, Emma.” But she shook her head against his chest. 

“No, I really can’t. You’ve been so kind to me, so gentle and caring. What kind of man must you be to be so protective of me, to look out for me the way you do, even though we met less than 24 hours ago.” She chuckled and quipped, “Your mama raised you right.” She felt him smile against her hair. She allowed one of her hands to mirror his actions and she started to rub his lower back, loving the feel of the soft hairs covering it, and the warmth of his skin under hers. 

But nearly as soon as she started rubbing, his rubbing stopped. Then he was setting her away from him by the shoulders though still smiling down at her with those kind, crinkled brown eyes. “You make me want to be a good man,” was all he said, then he grabbed the mug of coffee off the counter, thanked her for it, and suggested they get dressed and order breakfast. 

Emma watched his back as he retreated to his room. He even had a nice butt, she thought, and it looked great in sweatpants. She could see the muscles of his back move underneath his skin, and she watched the spot she had just been rubbing and felt an ache from deep within her belly. 

It only took Emma a few seconds of watching him to figure out why he had abruptly ended their embrace. She tried not to let it make her feel… Attractive? Flustered? But it did, and she walked back to her room smiling at the thought of his problem. 

She chose another pair of leggings to wear today, a pair with a bright, large floral print that matched her happy mood. Over the top she wore a dark pink tunic that hit the tops of her thighs. She left her hair down although she brushed it. She had spent too many years with Keith using hairspray and mousse and gels, so many products that when her mom had offered to pick up her things from the apartment, Emma had asked her to leave them all. She was ready to let her spirit free, she thought with a rueful smile. Having her hair long and wavy, lose about her shoulders was very comfortable. Plus, she had a feeling Rory liked it. 

With a clean face and perhaps a touch of a bounce in her step, she walked out of the bedroom to find Rory sitting at the dining table in a pair of jeans and another polo. She liked him in the polos (although perhaps not as much as she liked him shirtless). She could see the hair peeking out of the neckline, which drew her gaze to the fine hairs on his neck, and then the scruff of a beard he had let grow in on his chin and face. And when she raised her eyes she realized he was watching her peruse him. She blushed furiously and went to get her coffee cup off the counter. 

It was still dark outside so he had turned on a light above the table. She sat opposite of him and he started listing off breakfast options. 

"I'll just have a side of bacon and some strawberries," she said. Rory glanced up at her, his forehead creasing in surprise. 

"Just bacon and strawberries? Emma, I can afford a better breakfast than that," he replied, smiling. Emma smiled back but she had her reasons, and she said as much. 

"We are going to go shopping today and I'd rather buy food to make here than waste a bunch of money on room service." She took a sip of her coffee, grimacing at its harshness. "Real coffee and real cream, for one thing," and they both laughed. "I'm a good cook and I would like to contribute to our food bill, as well." 

Rory shook his head. "I can't imagine you eat much, Emma." He glanced out the window at the horizon, now showing a faint sign of light, before looking back at her. "How about, I buy and you cook." 

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not entirely fair, as I enjoy cooking." 

Rory laughed in return. "And I am going to enjoy eating it, so we're even." 

They avoided talking about their hug and indeed didn't even touch each other for the rest of the time they spent in the hotel room. Their food arrived and they ate in relative silence, her with her bacon (not crispy, she had instructed, to which he'd shot her a confused look) and strawberries, and he with his sausage links, sunny side up eggs and wheat toast. They did order new coffees as well, hers with plenty of cream and sugar on the side. 

They avoided contact until it was time to leave and Emma walked out of her bedroom wearing the sweater from last night and a light jacket over the top. She had on her mom's slouchy hat and no gloves, compared to Rory's black beanie and light gloves. She had a small purse crossing her body and for all intents and purposes was ready to go. She had cash, her credit card and her phone, plus the room key Rory had given her. 

"Emma, you're going to freeze," said Rory, putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing her. She could tell her was feeling the thinness of her outfit and was concerned for her. 

"And we're going shopping," she replied, smiling up at him. "We both know I came unprepared. Let's find a Walmart or a Target so I can get some gear." She said it in a manner which brooked no argument from him, but he did unwrap his scarf from around his neck and slung it around her own, looping it in front and making sure it was tucked up underneath her chin. 

"Rory, really, you don't have to do this." But he had a concerned look on his face and just shook his head. 

"I won't have you getting cold," he said, and then took her hand to lead her out of the room. 

Although they hadn't touched all morning since their hug, the hand holding felt wonderful, as did the way he put his hand on her waist to guide her into the elevator. She was pleasantly surprised when he took her hand again in the elevator with his gloved hand, although when she glanced up at him he appeared to feel like it was the most natural thing in the world. He caught her looking and raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers, but didn’t say anything—just gave her that positively radiant Rory smile that melted her insides. 

He led her out into the parking lot and, to her surprise, into the now running, warm rental truck. He helped her into the passenger side and shut the door for her before going around to the driver's side and climbing in. The truck dipped with his weight, and she watched as his long legs and booted feet found their places under the steering wheel. 

He was so manly, and so competent. So charming and considerate. For the umpteenth time she wondered at how she had gotten so lucky. 

He shot her another quick smile before he pressed a few buttons on the GPS. "What is Sourdough?" She asked, noting the title of the store he had put in. 

"It's an Alaskan store where they sell all types of winter gear." 

"What happened to Walmart," she wanted to know but he looked at her and gave her a small smile again before returning his gaze to the window. He looked as though he didn't want to answer so she stared at him, knowing he would feel her gaze. 

After a few heartbeats he replied, "I want you to get good quality gear." 

There was that irritation, creeping in at being told what to do. "I will buy what I can afford, Rory." She let the irritation show in her voice, and she saw him wince. Good. 

But then he pulled over to the side of the road and put the truck in park. His hands dropped to his thighs and he sat there for a minute, obviously trying to think of a way to justify what he wanted her to do. She waited, eager to hear his argument although she was already set to disagree with it. 

He turned in his seat to look at her, as much as his large form was able in the small space, and took her hand in his. He looked at it for a moment, rubbed the back with his thumb, and then looked up at her. The look on his face said that what he was about to say was not just some contrived argument to get her to go along with what he wanted. 

"We have a week together," he said in a low, gruff voice. He said it like a week wasn't enough. "In that week I am going to want to do things for you. Buy things for you." He looked away, seemingly forming the right words before looking back at her. "I want to make you happy this week. It's now Thursday and you leave next Wednesday." He looked down at where his gloved hand was rubbing her skin. He let go and took off his gloves, handing them to her. "Put these on, your hands must be freezing," and to prove his point he leaned over and brought her hand to his mouth, and she knew he would feel the coldness of her skin against his lips. 

She smiled back at him and pulled on the too-large gloves, though feeling the warmth where his hands had been made her feel... special. His gloves, his scarf. And now he was speaking about giving her a good time this week, making it sound like doing so would make him happy. 

She sighed heavily and looked out the windshield, watching the occasional vehicle pass by. But she knew she wouldn't tell him no. In fact, she would have to find ways to one-up him in the giving department, just to make things even. She was in for a heck of a lot of cooking this week, she humored herself in her mind. 

"You are not making this easy," she told him, looking back at his handsome face. "You..." She was having a hard time putting her own thoughts into words. She looked down at her gloved hands, using one to rub the back of the other, feeling the thin but warm material warm her skin. "You're going to spoil me with all the nice things you're doing." And at that a wide smiles spread across his face. 

"Good," was all he said as he put the truck back in gear and resumed driving, following the instructions on the GPS. 

 

 

It felt like a victory, like a gift, that she would acquiesce to him buying her things. They had been driving in silence for nearly ten minutes but he was keenly aware of her presence in the truck. He could smell the sweet, flowery scent of her, enjoyed being in the small, confined space with her. He shot her glances every once in a while, noting she had a content but contemplative look on her face. She was thinking, and he was hoping she was thinking good things. 

She looked adorable in her outfit, as well. The colorful leggings fit her personality, her character, and the way they fit tightly around her legs made his mouth go dry. She was just stunning—the complete package from head to toe, and he knew this week would not be an easy one for him. Resisting initiating a physical relationship between the two of them was going to be sweet torture. 

When they pulled up at the rustic looking store she seemed to know he wanted to open her door. She slowly took off her seatbelt and gathered her purse as he came around to open her door. 

The next twenty minutes was an experience he would never forget. He liked watching her peruse the racks, able to see the very tops of her shoulders and her head over the racks whereas the racks seemed to hit him at the middle of his stomach. He didn't think she knew that he watched her, but he enjoyed the frustrated looks she gave as she read the tags and examined the colors. 

She fought him tooth and nail on every little decision he wanted to make. She refused the $600 goose down parka and instead gravitated towards a rack of nice but cheaper women's jackets and bright colors. She took one off the rack, a dark pink and bright yellow number that he was sure everyone would be able to see for a mile away. She obsessively checked all the price tags, but when she mentioned that this one had a scuff on a couple of the buttons on the front (and that maybe they could ask for a discount), he took it from her and found one on the rack that was the same size and in perfect condition. As he handed it to her she reached for the one with the scuffs so he wrapped his arm around her waist and physically moved her away from the rack with a low chuckle. She was exasperating, but he was having fun at the same time. 

She found a sensible pair of black snow pants on a clearance rack while he was pondering why women had to have all sorts of colorful gear. There was every color of the rainbow and then some. And of course the jacket Emma had chosen matched her personality as much as her leggings did. 

But when she brought him back the black snow pants and she showed him the $20 price tag he scoffed. The price was cheap, he told her, but so was the material. She rolled her eyes—actually rolled her eyes at him—but returned them to the rack. When she looked as though she was going to continue perusing the clearance rack he walked over and took her hand, gently pulling her towards the rack of snow pants that would match the coat she had picked out. 

"What size?" He asked, and she gave him a smile that said he was exasperating. But he wasn't giving up, and she told him what size she was. He raised an eyebrow, and made a point of stepping back and looking at her from her waist to her shoes and back again. "Are you sure you're not a..." And he named the size smaller. 

He was rewarded with a blush on her cheeks as she reached out and took the snow pants, walking away, thankfully, probably before he said something he'd regret. Her body was amazing, there was no doubt about it, and he may have continued complementing her if she hadn't ended the conversation. 

She chose a bright yellow ski hat with ear flaps and braided ties, and a warm and sensible pair of black ski gloves. He grabbed a small pair of black lined suede gloves so she would have something to wear besides the heavy ski ones. He caught her eyeing a rack of scarves and was surprised when she picked out a red one. It was long but soft and it fit perfectly when doubled around her neck. They finished her ensemble with a black ski mask he insisted she buy. She didn't understand but he knew if she had to stand outside at –20 degrees to see the northern lights, she would want a face mask. 

Her frustration with shopping came to a head when they reached the bottom floor which housed all the shoes. He sat on a bench off to the side with her purchases beside him as she walked up and down the wall that held rows and rows of women's boots. He watched her pick up a price tag, drop it in disgust, pick up another, and huffily walk away. 

"Rory, these are all terribly expensive. Can't we please go to Target?" She was a ways away from him but they were the only shoppers at that time of the morning. She had taken off her sweater and jacket but she still wore his scarf around her neck, and he decided it looked good on her. Every once in a while she would reach up and play with the tasseled ends, one hand on her hip as she stood back to examine the display of boots as a whole. 

But he shook his head, and suggested they buy everything all in one place. He did like shopping local when he travelled and this had been a good store with a nice selection. 

Sensing she was reaching her limit with shopping he stood to help her. She said she was a size 7 so he waved over the sales girl from the corner by the door to the back room and asked her for a 7 in the tall –40F Sorels, and a 7 in the pink and gray Soloman hiking boots. "Rory!" Emma exclaimed. "I'm not getting two pairs!" She had both hands on her hips but he motioned for the sales girl, who had paused at Emma's outburst, to go ahead. When she had disappeared Rory turned to Emma and strode over to where she was standing. 

"You were having a hard time deciding so I just helped you a bit," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing them until her hands dropped from her hips. He ran his hands down the length of her arms and gathered her hands in his, bringing both of them up to his face for kisses on the backs. "The big boots are for viewing the northern lights and the smaller ones are for you to wear while we're here." He made a point of looking down at her sneakers before bringing her hands against his chest, closing the distance between them. "I don't want your feet to get cold in those shoes," he said, with what he hoped was his most plaintive face. 

"Rory..." Her head fell forward against their clasped hands and she sighed. From beneath her hair he heard, "You're going to be the death of me," before she let go to join the sales girl at the bench to try on the boots. Both were perfect so she added them to the pile. 

Rory felt fantastic. He gathered the purchases up in his arms and smiled widely at her, though the smile she returned to him wasn't nearly as big. They walked up the stairs and as they passed by a display of camping blankets, with a couple available fingers he grabbed a large blue quilt off the top of a pile. Emma shot him a look but he didn't say anything. She wouldn't guess what the quilt was about, he was sure of it. 

Their purchases appeared to be an ungodly amount to Emma, who turned white when the woman at the cash register read the total. She turned away and walked towards the door as Rory pulled out his credit card and paid. She had put on her sweater and jacket and was pulling on his pair of gloves when he walked over to her, holding out the suede gloves. He became worried when she handed him his gloves and took the suede ones, because she just stood there looking at them. 

"This was too much, Rory," she said. "Too much money, too many things. I can't accept all of this," she said, holding the gloves out for him to take. 

He did take them, but held one open for her to put her hand inside, and replied, "I hear you're an excellent cook." 

She looked ready to hit him, but she let him help her into the gloves before they walked out the doors. 

While he drove she put on the hiking boots and the coat. When she was done she sat back, put on her seat belt and looked at him with a look that said, "Are you happy?" He smiled widely at her, and was glad to see her return the smile, albeit with a shake of her head. 

"I am," he said, knowing she had asked it rhetorically. "It's going to feel good knowing you're warm and comfortable during your stay here." He reached over and took her gloved hand in his. "You came here with so little, let me treat you. And after lunch we will go for our first activity and drive down towards Denali, okay?" 

Emma just nodded, smiled and looked out the window, still holding onto his hand. 

 

 

Shopping with Rory had been an exasperating experience. She had to admit he had great tastes in quality clothing, but she couldn't believe how much money he had spent. She wondered if she could hide some of it in the hotel room before she left so that when his sister arrived, she could use it. He would probably be hurt by it, but she felt uncomfortable knowing he had spent that much. Oh well, she pushed the thought aside and chose instead to just enjoy his company. 

They pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store just as the sun was lighting up the sky. A brisk breeze had come up while they were shopping for winter gear and now, as Rory opened the door to help her out of the truck, her hair whipped up around the two of them, making them both laugh. He closed the door and her hair settled but the wind was so cold, she grabbed onto his arm and tried to use his body to shield herself from it. It worked, as long as she kept her face close to the back of his arm. She had known Alaska was going to be cold but this was ridiculous. 

As soon as they entered the lobby he chose a small cart and they went inside. Emma had worked out a menu for lunch and hoped he liked it. As they walked around the store, him pushing the cart and her filling it with items, she kept her hand tucked into his elbow while they walked. It just felt right to do so, since even though they were walking they weren't able to hold hands. 

She felt funny sometimes, being so aware of how tall he was and how short she looked beside him. But she also felt good because she had never felt this way with Keith—feminine, protected, cared for. Rory made her feel like she had worth, and that feeling, paired with her attraction for him, was dangerous. 

She chose not to dwell on that now, and they finished their shopping and made their way to checkout. 

The cashier was a young woman who had a hard time keeping her eyes on the groceries and off Rory. He seemed to not notice, but Emma did. It irritated her, though she knew it shouldn't. He wasn't hers, did not belong to her, but she figured when a man and woman were shopping together the polite thing to do would be to not ogle the goods. 

Then again, she reminded herself, she ogled them all the time. He was handsome, and if anyone recognized him, they would know he was also famous. On the show half of his face was covered in scars and he had hair down to his shoulders. But if anyone watched the conferences where the actors all sat at a panel and spoke about it, or if they watched individual interviews with him, or kept up with sighting of him at awards shows (not that she did any of that, of course...), they would certainly know who he was. Although he was wearing a beanie whereas he usually wore a baseball cap, he drew the eye wherever he went. And she supposed not too many people would notice the slight woman who stood beside him. 

She felt that it was a good thing they would be together for only a week. She was already finding it hard not to stake her claim with a kiss, or wrapping her arms around him. Or, she supposed, just imposing herself into his personal space. She imagined herself standing in front of him with her back to him, his arms crossed haphazardly across her chest in a possessive manner. The thought appealed to her so much she almost missed that he had pulled out his credit card and swiped it, before she could say anything. Then he looked down at her with what could only be described as a smirk, and started to push the cart towards the doors. 

Once again she took hold of his arm, sliding her other hand into the pocket of her new coat. "I had wanted to pay for the groceries, Rory," she said, but he only chuckled. 

"You were preoccupied," he said, smiling down at her. Then, "What were you thinking about?" 

Emma blushed. "Nothing," she said guiltily, and he laughed as they left the store. 

Lunch turned out to be more fun than she had anticipated. Although she was to do the cooking, she enlisted him in prepping some of the food. He sliced the ribeye steaks and put them in the pan she offered him, while she cut the onions and tried not to cry. She failed, and they both had a good laugh while tears poured down her face. He offered to finish while she washed her hands in the sink. 

They worked well together, and he managed to stay out of her way while she organized some of their purchases on the counter and moved around the kitchen, preparing a selection of fruit for their drive and a cheese tray to go with some crisps she'd found that looked tasty. When those were prepped and in the fridge she finished cooking the steak strips and au jus, plated them with hoagie rolls she'd bought and finished the meal with small side salads and cold sweet tea. 

By the way Rory ate the French dip, she guessed he liked it. He had told her after the first couple of bites that it tasted amazing, but the speed with which he finished it was really telling. He complimented her on the salad and sweet tea as well, while she wrapped the second half of her sandwich in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for later. 

"You really are a good cook," said Rory. "That tasted amazing." 

Emma beamed at the compliment but then added nervously, "Thank you. Most people use a cheap cut of meat to make French dips but I found the best meat is ribeye steaks." As she gathered his empty plate, bowl and glass from in front of him she went on, "The best way to do it is with a rib roast, but since we are only two people I took the shortcut." She was rambling, thankful that he did seem to have enjoyed his meal. "The hoagie rolls weren't the best but I didn't want to waste time trying to find a bakery with the right kind." 

"Emma, it was delicious," he said again, standing and taking the dirty dishes from her. He put them in the sink and turned back to her, striding back to her on those long legs of his. She wrung her hands, wanted to tell him what was bothering her but not wanting to ruin the day. She decided to say it anyway. 

"I'm sorry, it's just that Keith would find something wrong with everything I cooked and I guess I'm waiting for you to say something negative." She held up her hands in confusion. "I don't know, I'm just really self-conscious about my cooking because of it." 

Rory took her hands in his and pulled her in for their second hug of the day. This time her face pressed against the shirt on his chest and she went into the hug feeling like it was the most natural thing in the world. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of him rubbing her back while she wrapped her arms around his waist. 

"Keith was an ass," Rory was saying, and it made Emma smile. 

"Yes, yes he was. But when you spend five years with someone they leave an imprint on you." A large hand came up to stroke her hair. 

"That they do," he agreed, and then, "We'll just have to help you forget him then." With a last small squeeze he made like he was going to let go of her but she kept her arms clasped around him. She felt him realize she wasn't going to let go and his arms came back around her. 

"Wait," she said, not moving or opening her eyes. "Just... wait." She wanted to feel like this—comforted, appreciated. No, she needed to feel that way. And as he held her she felt his embrace as a balm to her soul. He really was helping her to wash away the bad taste Keith had left in her life, and she just wanted another minute to feel the relief. 

"I don't mind," Rory was saying softly. She leaned back slightly to look up at him. His brown eyes were looking into hers with a depth of understanding she knew she likely wouldn't have found anywhere else. The connection between them was palpable and yet scary. Knowing goodbye was coming made her want to cry. Rory seemed to sense this and he bent down and pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead, keeping his lips there a heartbeat longer than what was proper. 

Then he smiled at her, that lower lip looking soft and tantalizing. Emma drew in a shaky breath. "We should go now," she said, and he smiled that knowing smile at her. He always looked like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Perhaps it was because he was always thinking the same thing? Another scary thought. 

They drew apart and prepared to leave on their drive. Emma took her phone charger, wanting to make sure she took as many pictures as she could. She didn't know how many her phone could hold but she guessed she'd fill it by the time she had to leave on Wednesday. 

They gathered their snacks and left, her wearing some of the new gear he had bought for her. It was frigidly cold outside, though once again he had used the auto start on the truck so it was warm when they got in. Everything went in the large backseat so they could be more comfortable up front. 

Their only stop before leaving town was a gas station to fill up the truck, and they both went inside to pick out a drink for the drive. They returned to the truck and once again Rory helped her up into her seat before closing the door. She loved that about him, all the small chivalrous acts he did as though they were the most natural thing in the world. Little did he know, they were a dying art she thought. 

The day was more perfect than she could ever have imagined. They stopped several times on the side of the road when there was a particularly pretty view of mountains or a snow covered river bed. And Rory started a habit of taking her phone to capture a selfie of them both, during which her arms were usually wrapped around him from the side and he had his wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him. Several times he would bend down and make a silly face, and when she would go back to review them, those photos always showed a version of her she thought she had forgotten—laughing, happy, smiles that went on for days. And the other photos where they both just smiled for the camera, had hints of the same. She looked genuinely happy. 

Not to mention she was going to have these photos forever to remember him by. But she refused to cloud her day by thinking of things like that. 

They made it to Denali in just a couple of hours, stopping at a small convenience store just to use the restrooms and to pick out some souvenirs. Emma preferred postcards while Rory tended to look at hanging ornaments. She guessed he had a Christmas tree somewhere during that season and he wanted to use the ornaments to remember their trip to Alaska. 

She managed to buy a few postcards before he caught onto what she was doing, and he started watching her and adding her cards to his own purchases. It became a game of Is Rory's Back Turned, and Can Rory Catch The Cash Before It Exchanges Hands. There were many laughs to be had over their antics. 

Before they left town they sat in the running truck, listening to a quiet classical playlist he had on his phone. Emma had lifted the console between them to reveal the middle bench seat and laid out their picnic snack. She had brought strawberries and grapes, and several different types of cheese she'd found at the cheese bar at the grocery store. They were all cut now into small pieces, and beside them on the plate she laid out the crisps that would go well with the cheeses. 

"You obviously know the way to a man's heart is through his belly," Rory joked as he picked up a cheese and cracker combo and popped it into his mouth. Emma smiled, enjoying the compliment. 

When they were almost done and the food was almost gone Rory was telling her about the schedule for the next day. Meghan had planned a morning of kids activities for Stephen so Rory suggested they have breakfast and then go to the local museum at the university situated on a hill not far from them. She agreed, and asked what they would do for lunch. Rory laughed. 

“You seem to think about food a lot.” Emma had to laugh.

 

“I have spent 5 years catering to Keith's tastes in food, so I suppose I’m just ready to cater to my own now.” She thought about that for a moment before putting a slice of strawberry on a cracker with a slice of brie on top. She put it in her mouth and found the combination extremely satisfying. 

She made the same on another cracker and then held it out to Rory, saying, "Try this." It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to feed it to him, though it didn’t happen as chastely as she expected. When she thought he would take it in his mouth and let her hand drop, her fingertips instead touched his lips for the briefest moment, eliciting from her a sharp intake of breath and yet another blush. She was immediately embarrassed, but even more so when Rory smiled widely and said, “That was the best one yet.” 

Then he took her phone, brought up the camera and held it out in front of them. When he leaned over they came cheek to cheek, and with his mouth still full of food and her cheeks still bright red he took a photo of them that, on the way back to the hotel while Emma was perusing the photos of them yet again, made them look like a true couple. There was happiness in his eyes, true and genuine happiness, as well as bashfulness on her face. It was just yet another photo she would treasure.


	5. The Draw Of Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has taken me a bit to update -- I may be doing more crocheting than writing these days. I'm re-writing the ending of this fic so I'm still posting the chapters as I edit them. I hope you enjoy my little fantasy!

Later in their hotel room Rory waited for Emma while she took a long bath. She had gushed over the size of the tub, and after telling him that that morning she had decided to take him up on his offer of staying with him for a week, she told him it was the tub that sealed the deal. Then when he went to grab her—for a hug or to kiss her, he had no idea—she danced out of reach, giggling like a girl, and had gone into her room to gather clean clothes. They still had dinner to go to and he was taking her down to the restaurant and lounge on the hotel's first floor. 

So now he waited, indecently leaning on the wall beside the bathroom door, listening to the sound of sloshing water and her humming one of the classical music tunes they had listened to today on their drive. Perhaps he should have left her alone, but he justified it by telling himself he wouldn’t open the door. 

But the scent of her body wash was escaping under the door with the steam and he decided it was going to drive him insane, not only smelling that scent but knowing she was just feet away, completely naked. It was torture. 

Feeling as though he’d had enough, he instead sat down on the couch and took out his phone. He had taken several photos today that Emma had known about, but there were quite a few that she didn’t. Like the one of her taken from behind as she stood on the side of the road, looking at an idyllic mountain scene, all blowing dark hair and pink jacket set against a white background. Or the one with her sitting in the truck, eyes closed in pleasure at the taste of strawberries and cheese. And then there was the one he snuck while driving, a somewhat crooked photo of her leaning forward and looking up through the windshield in wonder at the particularly beautiful frozen canyon they were driving through. 

His favorite thus far was during another stop on the way back where they had both gotten out of the truck at a scenic rest stop to look at the view of the mountains and the river valley. They were on the side of a hill looking down, but Emma’s gaze was on the mountain range off in the distance. He had taken his phone out of his pocket and held it up just as a breeze lifted some of her hair away from her shoulders. She was wearing his red scarf, and as he watched her calmly, almost reverently looking at the sight before her, a few tendrils drifted forward as if reaching for the great expanse. He had snapped the photo and let his hand fall, attempting to commit to memory the beauty she was exhibiting at that moment, only to find later that he had captured it perfectly in a photo. 

They had five more days left to make memories together. He had five more days with this exceptional woman. He looked down at the photo still on his phone, knowing he wanted to do something special for her tonight. But what was there to do for a lady when you were staying in a hotel room? 

He suddenly got an idea and walked over to the room phone. In an instant he had spoken with the front desk clerk about what he wanted, had given specific instructions, and waited for Emma to get out of the bath. 

When she did he stopped thinking of anything but what she looked like at that moment. She was wearing a sleeveless butter yellow shirt with a scooped neck made of loose fabric. The color set off her freshly dried brown hair perfectly and left her arms and shoulders delectably bare. Her hair fell in waves over one shoulder and looked—he freely admitted in his mind—sexy as hell. For pants she had chosen a pair of light blue jeans, and as she spun and asked him if her outfit would work for dinner, he nodded. But his mouth had gone dry at the sight of her bottom encased in the tight denim. 

This woman was going to give him a heart attack. 

She seemed pleased, even with his lack of verbally acknowledging her outfit. She had worn nothing else—no jewelry, no hair clips, although he knew her penchant for wearing her hair down, and she wore the sneakers she had been wearing when they met. The sight made him smile. 

As she moved the fabric of her shirt swayed and he could easily see the smallness of her waist paired with the swell of her hips. She had the body of a goddess, but she wielded it with an innocent exuberance. 

Rory was sure his own clothes left much to be desired—he too was wearing jeans, and he had chosen a dark gray polo, leaving the buttons open at the neck. Emma certainly didn't seem to mind, and hand in hand they walked out of their room and down to dinner. 

On the way they passed a sign that showed the hotel was hosting a fundraiser Dinner & Dancing on Friday night, tomorrow. "Would you like to go?" Asked Rory. Emma seemed unsure. She hesitated before answering. 

"I only brought one dress and I'm not sure it's appropriate," she said nervously. She let go of his hand and tucked hers into the crook of his elbow, placing her other hand on his forearm. He liked it when she did this because it made him feel good, masculine. He felt like she would resort to this position when she wanted to be protected, like in the wind while shopping today. And therefore he knew she was self-conscious about going to a fancy dinner. 

"I'm sure it will be fine," he said, and then he put his finger under her chin to have her look up at him. "It's not tie-dye, is it?" At that she laughed and they kept walking, eventually finding themselves in the restaurant being seated in a small booth. 

"So," said Rory after they'd ordered, "What's waiting for you when you get home?" 

He could tell the question had caught her off guard. He wasn't talking about Keith or any man though he knew she might take it that way. But what he really meant was family, a support system, a plan. 

Emma was stirring sugar into her cold tea. She looked introspective at the question and he supposed she was trying to find an answer. 

"My mom and dad are there and they say I can stay with them." She had told him this before. "And I'll be starting my face painting business again as soon as I get back." Short answers, but he got his reason for them soon enough. Emma looked at him. "Rory, can we talk about something else? Right now I don't want to think about going back." 

Rory smiled. He understood, he had just been making small talk. He wasn't sure if she would like what he had set up for the evening and did feel a bit nervous about it. He reached across the small table to hold one of her hands in both of his. 

"I'm sorry, I won't ask again," he reassured her. So he asked her about something he knew she liked to talk about. "When are you going to get out your paints? I'd like to see if you are as good as you say you are." 

Once again she laughed. He loved making her laugh. 

"I'm not sure. What's on our itinerary?" she asked, and he liked the way that sounded. Our Itinerary. 

"Tomorrow is the museum and the fundraiser dinner, but on Saturday I thought we could walk downtown to different gift shops and see what we can find." Her love of postcards was cute and he knew she'd be able to find quite a few. 

"Saturday afternoon it is," she laughed. Then she said, "And I know exactly what I'll paint on you." 

He winked at her. "I do NOT want a large flower on my nose." She giggled, her hair falling in front of her face before she brushed it back with her fingers. 

"No, I have something a bit more dignified in mind." Together they laughed and still holding hands, waited for their food to arrive. 

As dinner wound down and Rory asked for the check, Emma told him she'd like to make breakfast in the morning. He certainly wasn't going to say no and he told her so, eliciting another laugh from her. 

They left the restaurant and headed back to their room. Rory unlocked the door and let Emma in first, hoping with all his might that the front desk clerk had been able to acquire the items he had requested. And at Emma's shocked gasp and the sight that greeted them on the dining table, he was glad the kid was successful. 

In a glass vase on the table stood a white vase with a gorgeous arrangement of pink and yellow flowers—pink lilies, pink daisies, and pink carnations, and a scattering of beautiful yellow roses—a color scheme that fairly closely matched that of her new jacket. Emma's hands were covering the lower part of her face and she turned to look at him, eyes wide, before turning back to the table and moving in for a closer look. 

Also on the table sat a little piece of plain paper that read "Movie Night" and a bowl of popcorn, big enough for two people. 

"Oh my goodness, Rory," she was saying under her breath. He watched as she reached out to touch one of the flowers, and then bent down to smell them. As he watched she smelled every different type of flower in turn, before picking up the piece of paper as though it might not say what she had actually just read. "When did you do this, Rory?!" 

"I called while you were in the bath," he explained, very pleased with her reaction. "He promised he could arrange it while we were at dinner," with a hefty tip, he didn't add. 

He was rewarded by her launching at him, this time going in for a hug with her arms raised to go around his neck, meaning he had to bend over to get his arms around her waist. "Thank you thank you thank you," she was saying against his neck, and to prevent discomfort but also to draw her closer, he held her close and stood tall, lifting her feet off the ground. She didn't seem to mind as she went on, her breath on his neck, "This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. This is such a surprise!" 

Rory smiled into her hair, trying not to make it too obvious that he was actually smelling it. He could get drunk off that smell, he was sure of it. "You're welcome," he said gruffly, though her display of emotion and gratitude really touched his heart. Never had there been so much appreciation for an arrangement of flowers. 

She loosened her arms and he chuckled as she slid down until her feet were on the floor. But her arms stayed raised and she put both hands on his cheeks, making sure he would not look away from her. "Rory, you are a dear, dear man," and just as he began daydreaming over what it would be like to kiss her she let go and walked back to the table. "What movie are we watching?" She picked up a piece of popcorn and put it in her mouth with a smile. 

"I'm not sure, he told me how to access the movies on the television, though. Go have a seat and I'll get us some waters." And with that she turned, affording him one last view of her bottom in those spectacular jeans, and after giving the flowers one last sniff she headed over to the couch with the bowl of popcorn. 

 

Emma couldn't believe her eyes when she walked in and saw the flowers on the table. Rory had certainly worked his magic to get her those, and she was so happy that she momentarily forgot that he was a foot taller than she was, and she had flung her arms around his neck. His hug had been so tight and so powerful that she hadn't realized he had lifted her up until it was time to get back down. 

What an amazing man he was, she thought as she sat on the couch. She turned half way so she could see him working in the kitchen, getting two glasses out of the cabinet and filling them with ice water. He continually surprised her, and yet she knew she shouldn’t be surprised. He was full of good intentions, kind acts and caring charm. She hadn't expected the flowers, but nor was she truly surprised by the gesture. The flowers themselves were gorgeous, as was the man walking towards her now. After all, who could resist a man who was gorgeous inside AND out? 

His face was focused though there was a hint of a smile showing in his cheeks, and his eyes bore into her as though he wanted to memorize her face. It unnerved her and excited her at the same time. 

He sat close to her in the middle rather than taking the other side of the couch so she did what felt natural and hugged his arm to her chest. The hand of the same arm came to rest on one of her bent knees while the other held the remote. She leaned her head against his muscular shoulder and decided there couldn't be a more perfect night. 

Rory told her to pick any movie she wanted and that tonight was her night, so she picked a newer sci-fi movie and they settled in to watch it. But halfway through it her eyelids started to droop and she realized she was quickly growing tired. She told Rory and he asked her if she wanted to go to bed but she said no, inwardly refusing to give up the warmth of his body. Sleep overtook her anyway, and she closed her eyes where her head rested against his shoulder. 

When she awoke the room was dark. It took her a minute to realize they were still on the couch, although she had no idea what time it was. 

And she quickly discovered that Rory was laying on the edge of the couch and she was laying on her side pinned between him and the back of the couch. His one arm wrapped around her body and lay still on her waist while the other, she saw as she lifted her head, was curled with his hand underneath his head. And much to her dismay, her leg was thrown over his thighs and her arm was firmly wrapped around his waist with her fingers secured between his body and the edge of the couch. 

She had no idea how they had gotten there, but obviously Rory must have just laid them down and turned the movie off. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to move her, or perhaps he was just as tired himself. Either way, she was pretty much sprawled over his left side and very much comfortable that way. 

Moonlight was coming in through the windows, illuminating his sleeping face for her to peruse. She managed to slowly get up on her elbow and extricate her arm from around him. Having nowhere to put it, though, she just laid it on his chest. 

But this caused her fingers to rest just inside the open V of his polo, and she could feel the chest hairs there tickling her fingertips. Her eyes darted to his face but he didn't seem to have moved or awaken at all. 

His face—what wasn't there to love about his face? The scruffy beard that he apparently wasn't going to shave any time soon, not that she minded; the laugh lines beside his mouth, the perfect nose and thick eyebrows. And those lips—so soft-looking now in sleep. Perhaps it was her fatigue or just the strong urge to touch, but she brought her finger up to gently rub his lower lip, tracing her finger from one side to the other. She wasn't going to get another opportunity like this anytime soon, so she was going to take advantage of it. 

He was so handsome, and that mouth—the word Kissable popped into her mind and she almost laughed out loud. As it was, she had to smile. Yes, it certainly was. 

It was then that she realized in the darkness that she had missed his eyes opening. His short, thick lashes cast a shadow and she knew she had no idea how long they had been open. Had he felt her touch his lips? Of course he did, her finger was still there. Did he feel her touch his chest? She could have groaned out loud with mortification. 

But another emotion warred with that one—boldness. They were both tired and if she didn't hesitate any longer she could use this opportunity to kiss him, to kiss him not on his cheek but on his lips, to kiss him the way she had been daydreaming about kissing him for two days. She had wondered if she would feel that connection between them during a kiss and now... No, she couldn't hesitate. 

She just leaned down and pressed her lips to his, both of their eyes still open. Neither moved for a moment and Emma was sure Rory would be able to feel her heart beating in her chest. But then his eyes slowly shut so she allowed her own to do the same, and she began to move, dropping small kisses along that soft lower lip. She could feel his whiskers on his chin tickling her lip, and she opened her mouth slightly to draw his skin between her lips. He still wasn't responding but neither was he pushing her away, so she hesitantly scooted up higher on the couch and repeated her action, kissing along his mouth until she thought she would die from embarrassment if he didn't do anything. 

Then she ran her tongue along the lower edge of his bottom lip, just the tip, enough to show him she was ready for more, and she felt both of his arms come around her, one hand landing on her waist and the other on the back of her head. She was suddenly lost as he opened his mouth and invited her in with his own kisses. 

Rory's groan excited her and her hand went to the side of his face, her thumb on his cheek and her palm over his ear. His hair was soft against her fingertips as she felt his mustache rubbing against her lips. She licked his lips, darted her tongue inside his mouth to let it mingle with his own, and then drew his lower lip between her teeth before sucking it into her mouth. 

It was her turn to groan and he used it to his advantage, holding her head against his as his tongue invaded her mouth. As he kissed he did so rhythmically, mimicking the act of lovemaking with every thrust. It was the single most erotic kiss Emma had ever experienced. They were in darkness with a ring of her hair surrounding their faces. 

She felt the heat in her body grow, recognized the need to get closer, and she maneuvered her body so she was sitting on him, her apex now rocking against the hardness in his jeans. He continued to kiss her passionately as his hands roamed all over—her head, her neck, her back—then down to her bottom where he pulled her against him in the same rhythm he used with his kiss. Emma could only whimper as she realized he was now in control, and she was powerless but to let the waves of desire wash over her. They had on too many clothes but that barely registered with her, as all she could feel was the heat of his kiss and the sensation of being brought up and over the precipice. 

She felt it building, felt the friction between their bodies bringing her to a height she had never reached before. Her kiss became almost frantic, her hands grabbing at the hair on his head while her mouth made love to his tongue. And with a couple more strokes of movement from his hands grabbing at her hips she was thrown into the explosion of ecstasy that had her crying out his name, "Rory!" 

She nearly collapsed against him then, aftershocks of desire flowing through her now incredibly sensitized body, as he gently took her face in his hands and pressed light kisses to her mouth, her cheeks, her nose. It took her a minute to come to her senses, and she was certain he knew exactly when it happened. 

She froze, realizing the magnitude of what had just occurred between them. She could still feel him, the hard length of him pushing up at her from inside his jeans. His breathing was ragged, his quick breaths mingling with her own. 

Oh God, what had she just done? 

“I’m sorry,” she said instinctively, though she really did feel as though she had done something wrong. Had that been her taking advantage of him? After all, she HAD kissed him until he gave in to her. She felt as though she had coerced him, she had seduced him, and even though the actions had become mutual—she cringed at this next thought—she was the only one who had found release. 

Emma quickly got off Rory before he could say anything else, mumbling another apology and avoiding as best she could looking at his face. She was absolutely mortified, certain he would think her easy or loose. What the hell had she been thinking?! 

As she retreated to her room fast she heard him call out her name. His voice was gruff, strained, and hearing it was like a gavel coming down. She had just been tried, found guilty and sentenced to lifelong embarrassment and regret. 

With a resounding closing of her door, she closed herself off from something that had once been amazing and started to cry. 

 

Rory would have been on Cloud 9 after what had just happened if it weren’t for how upset Emma was. But he knew what she must be feeling, judging by her apologies for what happened. The only reason Emma would apologize is if she regretted that it happened. 

But she had been marvelous. So sensitive, so responsive. Rory sat in the couch still incredibly hard. The way she had grabbed his head and plundered his mouth, but still allowed him to take control and to rub her hips against him—it was the single most erotic moment of his life. He had never met another woman who was more sensual, sexy or who turned him on as much as Emma did. 

Just thinking about it meant his torture was prolonged, but he came to the conclusion that he would have to talk to her. When he went up to her closed door he could hear soft sobbing coming from the other side. He knocked, and although the sobbing quieted there came no answer. He rested his forehead against the door, not sure of how to proceed. But knowing they shouldn’t go back to sleep with this unresolved between them, he quietly opened the door. 

Emma had turned on a lamp beside the bed but her back was to it. She lay under the covers with the blanket tucked up under her arm. He could see tissues balled up in her hand, and she was still crying. 

“Go away, Rory,” came her soft voice. “Please.” But he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Holding his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t touch her, he told her he couldn't do that. 

“We need to talk about what happened,” he said, still not looking at her. Somehow he could tell she wouldn’t welcome eye contact. It didn’t matter so much seeing as how she had her back to him, but he wanted to be considerate of her feelings. 

“No, we really don’t,” she replied through a hiccup. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll find a hotel room in the morning.” 

Rory abruptly turned on the bed to look at her, though her face was still hidden from him by her hair. 

“No, you will not!” he exclaimed, though he knew he really shouldn't be surprised. A woman who had been emotionally beaten down for five years would automatically assume everything was her fault. He surmised that that was why she apologized for everything. 

“I should, Rory. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I couldn’t handle it if—“ she hiccupped again, a telling sign that she could barely get out what she was about to say. “I couldn’t handle it if you thought of me as easy, or… too forward.” Rory was surprised, then, at her assumption, a bit irritated that she would think his opinion of her would change into THAT direction after what had happened, but also more understanding of why she would want to leave. But there was something he needed her to understand. 

“Emma, what just happened wasn’t your fault.” She snorted her opinion of that and brought the tissue up to wipe her face again. It was then that he noticed she was wearing the shirt he had loaned her to sleep in. His heart warmed at the sight, but he continued, “I should have been more aware… I should have stopped it before it got too far.” He had questioned his sanity when he had rearranged them on the couch after she had fallen asleep, but had never dreamed that THAT would happen. “Not that I wouldn’t want it to happen…” he was bungling this badly. “I mean, it was very nice, but I feel as though I took advantage of the situation, that I lacked self-control.” He sighed heavily, his gaze drifting down to his hands. “if anyone should get a new hotel room, its me. Emma, you did nothing wrong.” 

Emma was silent for a while, how long Rory didn’t know. But when she spoke he was surprised at where her thoughts had gone. “So… so you don't…” She was trying to speak around hiccups. “You don’t regret what happened?” 

Rory snorted a laugh. He decided honesty was the best policy. “Are you kidding? You were glorious, Emma. You were…” he wasn’t sure how far to take this. “You were every man’s dream.” No, that wasn’t right. “You were MY dream. I’ll remember that for the rest of my life.” At that she groaned, but Rory just chuckled. “Emma, how did you feel, while we were doing that?” 

She seemed to ponder his question for a while and just as he thought she wasn’t going to answer she said, “Really good.” She still wasn’t looking at him so he felt safe to smile. He had felt really good, he admitted to himself, despite not having found his own release. Her body grinding on his, her kisses and the way she licked and sucked his lower lip. And then that release—it had been so totally satisfying for him to see her like that, to hear her name on his lips as she was taken over the edge. 

Thoughts like that weren’t going to get him anywhere so he tucked them away, memories to bring up when she was no longer with him. “Emma, could you please look at me?” She hesitated but then rolled over, her side now pressing against his thigh. He reached out and took her hand in his, not wanting to completely break off physical contact between them, although he sensed that she had perhaps been readying herself for that. 

“We're friends, Emma. Let’s spend the rest of the week still being friends.” He brought her hand up to his lips as he so often did, but damn him if tears didn’t start falling out of her eyes again. He was suddenly unsure of himself. “Does that not appeal to you?” 

Finally a small smile appeared on her face, the barest of uplifted corners. “It does,” she whispered, though she didn’t offer an explanation for her crying again. 

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, wishing they were in an actual relationship so that he could gather her in his arms and soothe her with a backrub, kiss away her tears and sleep in the same bed. But that kind of thing just wasn’t in the stars for them. “Are you going to be okay?” He wasn’t sure if leaving her while she was still crying was the best thing for her, or for him. He probably wouldn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night for worrying that she was still upset. 

But she nodded so he just kissed her hand again and laid it back down on her stomach. “You’ll come to me if you’re not?” He wanted reassurance that she knew she could still count on him. 

“Yes, Rory,” she replied quietly, and she smiled at him then, though he felt it may have been a smile meant to get him to leave. He did anyway, leaving her alone in her room. He no longer heard her crying when he stood outside her door with his ear to it, so after a few minutes he walked to his own bedroom and got ready for bed. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, was going to be a very long day. 

 

Emma knew Rory stood just on the other side of her door. She quietly got out of bed and padded her way over, stopping just as she could press her ear to the door. She could hear him breathing, so quiet was the silence between them. And after a couple minutes she heard him walk away. 

She was sad, more so than she had anticipated. They had shared that amazing moment on the couch—embarrassing as it was—and now they were destined to spend the next few days in sexual frustration while attempting to enjoy each other’s company. And afterwards there would still be the dreaded goodbye. What a horrible predicament she had put herself into. If only she hadn’t touched his chest, rubbed his lip. If only she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to kiss him, which had led to her utter and complete downfall. He was irresistible. 

And tomorrow—or later today, rather—she had planned on practicing with some of her face paints after breakfast, go to the university museum after lunch, and do the fundraiser dinner that evening at the hotel. A packed schedule. Would that help them return back to normal? Was that even possible? Could they go on as they were without any awkwardness between them? 

She wasn’t positive they could, but she owed it to herself and to him to try. 

But when she woke up and walked out of her bedroom it immediately became apparent to her that the next few days would be a struggle. Rory stood at the couch with his back to her, staring out the window. She supposed he was lost in thought because he didn't turn when she opened the door. He had on only those gray sweatpants, slung low once again. His hands were on his hips and his head was down, in a similar position as to what he was yesterday when he stood in the kitchen, deep in thought after having just woken up. 

And the same as yesterday, she took a moment to study him. She could never get tired of seeing him without a shirt. When before she had thought she preferred a man without back or chest hair, Rory had dashed all of those preconceived notions. She felt a pull low in her stomach and knew then that she couldn't just put aside the feelings she had experienced the night before. Her hands ached to touch his back, to roam over the expanse and to explore the texture, the warmth and the size of him. She imagined herself reaching up to rub his shoulders now, hoping to massage away his troubles. She imagined what it would feel like to bring her hands around from behind and touch his chest, run her hands over his nipples and feel the contours of his skin. And she imagined just wrapping her hands around him, clasping them in front of him and holding herself to his back in an incredibly intimate pose. 

She even pondered what he would do if she indeed did any of those things right now, and she had to close her eyes and will away the warmth that was spreading across her body. Of their own volition her legs closed a bit tighter and she would have groaned had she known he wouldn't hear. 

To prevent any embarrassment she just turned and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her loud enough to announce that she was awake. 

Much to her chagrin, when she came out Rory was still shirtless although he had taken a seat at the dining table with a steaming cup of coffee. On the other side of the table opposite him was another steaming cup, an invitation to socialize. Good heavens, this was going to be hard. 

As she walked up to the table, painfully aware that she only had on a bra and panties underneath the long t-shirt, she saw that her coffee was very light, just the way she liked it, and likely also very sweet. He was getting to know her so well, she thought. 

"Good morning," she said in a calm, quiet voice as she sat down. She took a sip of her coffee and somehow thought it tasted better when he made it. Although anything would probably taste sweet if she could sit and look at his naked chest as she drank it. 

"Good morning," he replied, though he watched her over his coffee cup as he took a drink. There was a look in his eyes that she was unable to decipher. 

"Are you hungry?" Again, there was a flash of another look in his eyes, a slight raising of his eyebrow that alluded to thoughts she didn't want to pursue, but he nodded. Since she had breakfast all planned out since the day before, she set about making biscuits and gravy with a large plate of fruit on the side. 

As she worked she could feel him looking at her. She refused to look over, simply not wanting to dwell on his shirtless chest as she cooked. It was bad enough she had to think about him looking at her bottom as she bent down to put the tray of biscuits in the oven. She continued, browning the ground pork and spices, and setting a pot of water on to boil for the gravy. 

She took her time to arrange the fruit on a plate—strawberries in the middle, ringed by bite-sized cantaloupe chunks, green grapes and orange slices. Whatever was left over would make a nice snack for later. She did turn then to put the plate on the table and saw that he was indeed watching her. He had turned sideways in his chair, with one arm on the back of the chair and one on the table. His body language said he was quite interested, so without thinking she blurted out, "Like what you see?" It was meant as sarcasm but she immediately realized that, after what they had done last night, she had just opened a can of worms. 

So it was her own damned fault when he gruffly replied, "Very much," taking a slow, long draw from his coffee cup. 

Blushing furiously she returned to the kitchen and kept her back to him while stirring the gravy to a boil. Lord help her, she thought, he was going to burn her alive with those eyes. 

It was just minutes later that she was mixing the sausage with the gravy, taking the biscuits out of the oven, and plating two dishes of biscuits smothered in her sausage gravy. She returned to the table, dishes in hand, and he stood to take them out of her hands so she could sit. Try as she might, she couldn't resist subtly inhaling deeply to try to get his scent, and she wasn't disappointed. She could smell his skin, his soap, and she was relieved when she could sit down and stare at her plate of food while she ate. 

She hadn't noticed until now that he also had a newspaper sitting on the table beside him. After thanking her for the food and stating that it looked delicious, he pulled the newspaper closer and began to read. It caught her off guard, as she had figured they would at least attempt polite conversation over the breakfast table. 

As that was not the case, she got up and retrieved her phone from the counter where it had been charging. She put that beside her plate, brought up her Instagram account and settled in to eat and browse her designs. 

She was interrupted by Rory shifting positions across the table. He appeared to be shifting in his seat, but then his foot came out to rest against hers. Not really moving, she looked up at him to see if he had reacted and was confused to see he was still reading the paper and eating his food. Every once in a while he would take a drink of coffee, turn the page of the newspaper, but his foot stayed alongside hers. Casual. Unassuming. 

And although she was enjoying the contact, she chose not to think anything of it. Instead she thought of their plans for the day and asked him if he would take her shopping on their way back from the museum. She had a couple things to get at the store and thought that would be a convenient time to get them. 

"Like what things?" He asked. 

"Shoes for tonight, since I only have two pairs of boots and a pair of sneakers." She didn't tell him anything else. He didn't need to know she planned on buying a bit of makeup. 

Rory nodded. "There is a mall on the other side of town, we passed it on our drive yesterday. We can stop there." Then he continued to eat his food, and she grew even more perplexed. This anti-social Rory was not the one she had gotten to know on the plane. 

She finished her meal with a few pieces of fruit but was unable to concentrate on her phone so she shut off the screen and stared out the window. She didn't want to think that somehow last night had negatively affected their friendship. He had said it didn't, had in fact said he had enjoyed their make-out session. 

So why now the cold shoulder? And the staring at her while she cooked? And the lack of conversation? And the foot thing?! 

Frustrated beyond anything she had ever felt before, she got up and put her plate and cup in the dishwasher. Then without a backwards glance she walked into her room and shut the door. 

Men could be so infuriating sometimes. Infuriating and confusing. What was he playing at? Was he playing at anything? She just couldn't tell. 

She got out her face paints and eschewed pants because she was more than comfortable in Rory's shirt. The more she thought about his lack of conversation the more irritated she grew, so she angrily picked up the front of the shirt and brought it to her face to smell him in the fiber. There, a whiff of his scent and she was able to picture his smile, those laugh lines on his face and the way his smile crinkled his eyes at the corners. And his puppy dog eyes, slightly downturned at the corners. And those lips... 

Suddenly irritated at her lack of self control when he appeared to be handing his masterfully, Emma dropped the shirt and picked up her supplies, exiting her room and making her way to the dining table. Rory was still there reading the paper although he had finished his food and cleared his plate. She opened the case of paints revealing her rainbow cakes and small palette of solid colors. Then she retrieved a glass cup from the cabinet and put all her brushes inside. 

When she had brought over a bowl of water and a damp washcloth she decided she was ready to begin. 

And it was then that she froze. 

She hadn't picked up a brush in nearly 5 years. Keith had always provided for them (or at least his trust fund had) and he had said no woman of his would ever work a menial job. Plus, he was fond of telling her that face painting was a job for lesser people. 

What a snob he was, she thought, but it didn't lessen her anxiety. Five years. It was such a long time, and she was suffocating with self-doubt. 

To postpone having to load a brush with paint she grabbed one of her longer brushes, swept her hair up into a high bun and stabbed it with the brush, effectively securing it to her head. Then she grabbed a brush from the cup and wet it with the water in the bowl. 

Emma's brain seemed to stop. It was like a person afraid of heights who was faced with crossing a rope bridge over a canyon. She hadn't known it would be this difficult, hadn't known that Keith had stripped so much of her away that what was once her passion now seemed to be her obstacle. Her heart beat faster and for a moment she thought she was going to have a panic attack. 

Then she lifted her eyes and found Rory watching her. Eyes connecting, she felt a bit more grounded but was still drawing a blank. She didn't know what color to dip the brush into to, and didn't know what design to paint on her arm, which was where she sometimes practiced. 

"I can't do it, Rory," she said, almost panicked. "What if I can't do it anymore? What if I'm not good anymore? I don't know what I'd do if that happened." She looked down at her paints and felt a wave of sadness wash over her. 

But Rory had stood immediately and was now dragging his chair over to her. He pulled it up beside her and sat, reaching out to take the brush out of her hand. Then he turned her in her chair so she was facing him and grasped both of her hands in his. 

"Emma," he said quietly, in his sweet, deep accented voice, "You can do this. Ignore everything Nitwit ever said to you and focus on me." She did, looking into his brown eyes as he brought his face close to hers. "Now I want you to take that brush, put paint on it and paint me." Then he smiled and winked at her, and scooted his chair closer to her. 

Suddenly they were in an intimate position and Emma was startled to find themselves so. Rory's legs were spread wide enough to accommodate her closed legs between his own. His hands were on his thighs, and his chest—his naked chest—was close enough for her to touch. Flustered and suddenly not thinking about Keith at all, she reached over and pulled a small cake of paint from her tray. It was stripes of paint in black, red, orange and yellow. She dipped her brush in the water again and, with a quick glance up at him, rubbed it back and forth along the lines of paint in the small rainbow cake. Back and forth, back and forth, dipping for a bit more water and then back and forth, until she was satisfied with the amount of paint on the brush. Then she put the cake down and faced Rory once again. 

She had to smile. "You’re too tall, Rory. I have to stand." 

At that he chuckled and moved his chair back a couple inches so she could stand. "Used to painting wee ones, is it?" Emma smiled, nodding to agree with him. Indeed her clientele were usually a fraction of his height. 

Though as she stood she realized it brought his face in line with her chest, and she had to step between his legs and look slightly down at him to get a good angle on his face. Cringing at the erotic thoughts assailing herself, she forced herself to place a hand on top of his head to steady him, not unlike what she would do with her young clients, and painted a single line of the colored stripes in a large crescent shape, starting at almost the center of his forehead and ending on his cheekbone, all the while viewing scenes of her hands on his face and her lips on his mouth while she stood here between his legs. There was even one or two of her naked with her chest in his face, and him doing delicious things to her breasts. All this while he stared at her as she painted. She was going to drive herself insane. 

To cement the color she took the brush from the point on his cheekbone and swiped in an upward motion along the crescent, depositing more paint along the shape. She drew her lower lip in under her teeth and tried not to mess up, setting that brush aside and picking up another one and the black paint just as she felt his hands go to the sides of her legs. 

Her eyes darted back to him but his face was expressionless, those warm eyes studying her intensely. She loaded the new brush with black paint and once again used her hand to steady his head, although now she also held the black paint pot in that hand. And right before she started to paint his hands began to move, just a soft stroking of the skin on her outer thigh. It startled her enough that she knew if she started painting she would mess up. 

"Rory, what are you doing?" She pulled her hands away from him and looked down. His hands were still moving. 

"Nothing," he said, though she saw the corner of his mouth raising. When he smiled like that it drew her attention to his lower lip and she had to close her eyes for a moment. He was eliciting from her so many emotional and physical reactions, she wasn't sure if she could continue. 

Was this some game he was playing? He had stared at her while she had cooked breakfast, had let his foot rest against hers while they ate, and now was stroking the sensitive skin of her thighs. Could he be doing it all on purpose? The thought intrigued her and yet confused her at the same time. But why? Why would he do that? 

"Could you please stop?" 

"Certainly," he said, though as she returned to painting position, she felt his hands go from stroking them to holding them, open-palmed and motionless. There really was absolutely no reason, she thought—attempting to convince herself—why he should have his hands on her. He wasn't steadying her, he certainly wasn't steadying himself. Could he WANT to touch her? Is that why he was doing this? The heat from his hands warmed her skin but gave her goosebumps at the same time. He must have felt it because he smiled wider. 

"Rory," she laughed, "Stop smiling. It gives you wrinkles!" She wouldn't be able to paint over the crinkles at the corner of his eye, so she waited until his face returned to straight and proceeded to paint a tribal tattoo design over the top of the crescent shape. She used her other hand to direct his head, tilted to the side and slightly forward so she could look closely. She had never been this close to his head before, likely because he was always towering over her. And she smiled to herself, noting how it was indeed as large as the rest of him. His skin was smooth, his hair was soft, and all she could smell was his skin. 

She glanced down at him and saw that his gaze was now directed at her chest. It unnerved her but she continued to paint, until a thought entered her mind. 

If he was playing with her, toying with her, of course she'd be okay to do it back, right? She had no idea if her guess was correct, really wasn't good at reading people at all, but she felt like Rory had been giving her enough hints in the last hour that she decide to gamble and play the same game. 

Making like she was going in for a closer look, she leaned forward ever so slightly at the same time she pulled his head forward. His chin was only inches away from the tops of her breasts. And she felt the tips of his fingers curl into her thighs ever so slightly. But that was his only outward reaction, and she kept painting, being careful to connect all the lines, to add curves to the angles, and to keep every point needle sharp. And as she painted, she would lean away to wet the brush and bring herself back into his space, ready to paint again, and perhaps position herself a hair closer to his face then she was before. 

The painting really didn't take long but when she was done she stopped, put down the brush and the paint, and put her finger under his chin without moving away. "Let me see," she said, tilting his face up to her. 

The painting had turned out beautiful, very well done. Even she could see it. It was a perfect crescent shape, with no odd angles or accidental blobs of paint. But her breath caught at the closeness between them, the light coming in from the window now clearly illuminating his features. She took a moment, with any amount of time being longer than was proper, to look at his face. While she could still feel his hands on her thighs, she brushed the patch of hair on the top of his head back, let her hand travel down the side of his face opposite the painting, and came out underneath his chin as she felt the beard growth. Before leaving his face she let her thumb brush across his lips from one side of his mouth to the other, knowing she was taking the game to another level but not caring. Oh, how she wished to kiss that mouth. 

Then she did in fact remember the game—she'd almost lost sight of it—and she turned, rearranging her chair and feeling his hands drop from her thighs. 

"It looks fantastic, Rory. Why don't you go have a look in the bathroom." 

Emma offered this not only because she didn't have her small mirror at the table, but also because she thought there would be a possibility of him having something he didn't want her to see under his sweatpants. 

She called out to him to bring her mirror when he returned, and a couple minutes later he did have it in his hand when he came out of the bathroom. He was smiling widely. 

"This is fantastic, Emma. You're very talented." Emma blushed, exceptionally happy at the compliment. 

"Now it's my turn," she said, and she sat down to get to work on a design on her own face. To her surprise he sat beside her, though this time he wasn't touching her. Rather, he watched her with rapt attention as she chose her paints and began painting on her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3


	6. The Game

Rory was going to be turned on for the next few days, he just knew it. It appeared as though Emma may have caught onto his little game. With as many times as she almost brushed his face with her breasts while she painted on him, he was pretty sure the jig was up. 

So as he watched her now he took a small break from the game, fully intending to restart it later, and just watched her paint herself. He still had no shirt on (a successful ploy, if the amount of times he had caught her looking at his chest was any indication), and he still sat with his legs wide and framing her chair, but it was only to be close so that he could watch her work. 

Or rather, that’s what he told himself. It likely had nothing to do with this sudden view of her bare neck, uncovered for the first time with her hair up like that. He tried to watch her paint but had trouble keeping his eyes off the soft-looking skin, and the gentle slope where it disappeared under the wide neck of his t-shirt. He wondered at what the skin would feel like if he kissed her there, if she would like it or not. 

Then there was her leg, and how the hem of his shirt was slowly riding up, revealing more and more skin. He imagined his face there as well, slowly pulling up the hem and kissing her skin, inch by uncovered inch. 

Damn, he was going to have to leave if he kept this up. Either that or embarrass himself. 

He decided to focus on her painting—convinced himself that he could do it—and watched her. She had used a similar cake of paint as the one she had used on him but hers was in rainbow colors. One long swipe from just above her eyebrow and down the side of her cheek was all it took to put an enormous amount of color on her face. It was amazing, truly. 

Then he watched her take another brush loaded with white paint and blue on the tip, and she pressed it to her temple to form perfect petals, sometimes arranged as flowers with some trailing down her cheek and a few petals over her eyebrow. He was mesmerized as she flicked a brush loaded with green paint between the flowers and petals to form leaves before adding several dots and little starbursts. The overall effect was dainty but flashy, and very well done. 

“Emma, I am very impressed,” he said honestly when she was done. She smiled sweetly at him and thanked him, looking positively adorable with the paint on her face. And before he could rethink it, he said, “Photo time,” and pulled her over onto his lap. 

“Rory!” she exclaimed, surprised. But she didn’t argue and in fact chuckled, albeit a little tense on his lap. He reached over and grabbed their phones, taking first hers to snap a photo of them. She pressed her unpainted cheek to his and smiled as he took it. 

Then taking his phone he brought up the camera and held it up in front of them. “Do you think we should be dressed before taking these,” she wondered aloud. 

But what Rory saw in his camera was this beautiful woman wearing only his shirt, sitting on his lap with his arm around her waist, her arm casually clasping his opposite shoulder. And as he held out the camera to take the photo he suddenly turned and pressed his lips to her cheek, snapping the photo at that moment. 

"Rory!" She exclaimed in surprise, although he also detected pleasure, not annoyance, in her voice. 

Then to cover up the moment he smiled widely and said, "One more," and she hesitatingly pressed her face against his once again. This time when he snapped the photo her cheeks were flushed, her eyes more intense, and her smile held a secret—the secret of the photo before. 

The rest of the day was spent in town. Emma had eyed his scarf while they were getting on their coats and he offered it to her to wear again, which she gladly accepted. When they arrived at the museum he helped her out of the truck and held onto her hand the entire time they were inside. This meant that at times she was dragging him by the hand to see this and that, her enthusiasm for seeing new things inspiring. She loved the gold nuggets, marveled at the blue mummy of the steppe bison, and studied the whale skulls and mammoth bones as though she was a student. The “Isn’t this fascinating, Rory” and “Rory, look at this” statements were numerous. 

When they arrived at the room where the earth's vibrations were piped in via speakers, she sat on the bench and pulled him down alongside her. Somewhat facing each other she grasped one of his large hands between hers and just sat, listening, fascinated by What was happening. 

She was mesmerizing. She had a zest for life and for new things that was refreshing. He didn’t often socialize to the extent he had with her over the past couple days, but had found he couldn’t wait to see what they did next. He was certain that if the weather were different, their excursions would include a lot more outside activities. The thought made him remorseful that they would never get that chance, but he resolved to not let it ruin his day. 

He took her out to lunch at a little lunch diner they had passed on the way to the museum, and then brought her across town to the mall they had seen the other day. They stopped at a shoe store where she picked out a pair of scrappy black high heeled sandals. They were sexier than anything he thought she’d pick out, completely impractical but he was dying to see them on her. He wondered what kind of a dress she had that would go with them, having only the hint that it was a pink dress. 

They argued over who would pay for the shoes and after he won, he did also agree to her shopping alone in the department store next door. She refused money, stating that she did indeed have plenty of her own, so he waited on a bench just inside the door to the store. When she came out she was holding a single bag and he didn’t question what was in it. 

It was time to return to the hotel to get ready for dinner. When they arrived it was just an hour before the doors opened for dinner, so they both went into their respective rooms to change. Rory had offered Emma the bathroom first and he heard her go in while he was changing. The only nice clothes he had brought were a pair of black slacks and a black dress shirt. No tie, nothing else fancy, but he hoped she would like what she saw. A quick comb of his hair and he was ready to go. 

Five minutes before they had agreed to leave he knocked on the bathroom door. “Emma,” he said, “It’s almost time to go.” 

“I know, just give me one more minute,” came her reply. Then he heard her cleaning up so he sat on the edge of the couch to wait. 

Less than a minute later the door opened and Rory stood. The sight before him made his mouth go dry. 

Emma was stunning, standing in her dark pink dress holding a small black clutch. She had gathered her hair high on her head in a poofy, messy bun and had left several tendrils floating down by her ears and temples. She had also put on mascara which made her green eyes more dramatic, as well as a faint lip color that just drew the eye to their perfect shape. From her ears hung a pair of short, black earrings that probably only cost her a few dollars, but she looked absolutely amazing. 

The dress was beautiful—wide neck and it fit her tightly down to just above her knees. It wasn’t the right color or style for a fancy benefit dinner, but he was certain she would be the most beautiful woman there. The sleeves were just rounded flaps of transparent fabric with no cuffs at the wrists, the same color as her dress, and as they fell from the shoulders it left her arms bare. 

But it was her legs that drew his eyes, smooth and creamy from where they first appeared under the edge of her dress. They ended in the strappy black sandals that gave her overall look one of confidence. Not to mention sexy as hell. Her toenails were pink and matched her dress. 

Rory knew he had never seen a woman he wanted more than what he did now. 

Although her attire screamed confidence, her face did not. 

"I've had this dress for I don't know how long, and I never had a chance to wear it." She was stammered, "I don't even know why I brought it." 

Rory strode over to her and took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss before saying, "I'm glad you did." He knew it was foolhardy but he hoped she saw the desire that he felt when he looked into her eyes. Her self-consciousness wasn't through, though. 

"You don't think it's inappropriate for dinner?" 

Rory laughed, then smiled down at her, shaking his head. "Emma, you're going to stick out like a sore thumb." Her mouth opened in a shocked expression, her eyes wide. But before she could take that and turn it into an excuse to not go, he added huskily against her ear, "In the best possible way." Before he drew away he saw goosebumps appear on her skin and chuckled. 

With a second kiss to her hand he pulled out his phone. Never before had he wanted to take so many selfies, shied away from the camera in fact. He was always good to take photos with fans, had quite a lot of fun when they did, actually. But he was having so many moments with Emma that he didn't want to forget, he was going to keep his phone on him at all times. 

Her heels brought her height up so that the top of her head reached his chin. She put an arm around his waist and rested her head against his chest, her other hand reaching up to touch the front of his shirt. And when he wrapped his arm around her and held her to him by the waist, feeling that stunning curve of waist as it flared out to gorgeous hips, she sighed with such contentment that he thought he could cry. 

When he held his phone up and they saw themselves on the screen, he knew they would both think that they looked like quite the handsome couple. Her black accessories matched his outfit perfectly, and her dress was so sexy that he was sure men would be staring. 

He snapped a couple photos and tucked his phone back in his pocket, but just as she was pulling away his hand that had been on her waist slid over bare skin he hadn't seen. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around. "Good god, Emma," he said, staring at the open back of her dress. It dipped nearly to her waist and was held together at the top by a thin strip of pink lace going straight across her shoulders. It made it painfully obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. 

He had the urge to lay her down and kiss every inch of exposed skin. 

But she turned, unsure once again because of his reaction, and he could only chuckle. "Emma, what am I going to do with you?" Then, realizing that his reaction was a positive one, she smiled up at him with a seductive "You tell me" smile and turned to walk towards the door. That view of her from behind... He knew if they really were a couple they wouldn't have made it out of the hotel room that night. 

As it was, they were not, so he tamped down his desire so he could enjoy his evening with her. 

 

 

It was Emma's turn to play their game, although it seemed more of a game of Russian Roulette than simple sexual teasing. She felt that, with a few days left together, at any moment they were going to spontaneously combust. In the elevator she stood back to eye his outfit but only saw one thing that she thought he should change. She stepped closer to him and asked, "May I?" though she knew he wouldn't have any idea what she wanted to do. And he did look down at her somewhat suspiciously before she reached up to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. "If I'm not appropriate, neither do you have to be." 

But that wasn't her entire motive for doing that—she loved that hair she could now see in the V of his shirt. When she was done she nodded her approval, smiled up at him, and took his arm. She liked this new height difference, with it not being so dramatic as when she wasn't wearing heels. Of course, part of that was the heels themselves. Even she had to admit, with the straps of black fabric crisscrossing over her feet and toes and up to her ankles, she felt incredibly sexy. Back in the room she'd thought she would need to hand Rory a tissue, he'd looked so pleased. 

When they arrived at the door of the ballroom she stood in front of him, except she stood at a distance that she knew would be too close. Her back pressed against his front, and his hands came up to rest on her hips. It was just his fingertips but it was enough to set her nerves aflame. 

Then he reached between them as he bent down towards her ear, and traced a finger up her spine and then back down again. She shivered, and then did so again when it elicited a deep chuckle from him beside her ear. They were playing with fire, she knew. But it felt so good. Rory made her feel sexy, desired. She was beginning to feel like, if they had a repeat of last night, it wouldn't be a bad thing. 

No, she reminded herself, this game was alright, but doing again what they had done last night would seriously make leaving a thousand times harder. As it was, her heart was going to break the moment she left. She was sure there would be a period of mourning and it was going to be hard. But at least she had photos, lots of photos of them. And several of him that he didn't know she had taken. 

She tucked that knowledge away, her little secret, and vowed to enjoy the evening and not let thoughts of their parting ruin it. 

When it came their turn for Rory to hand over the tickets, they were seated at a small round table off to the side. Emma, try as she might, couldn't ignore the looks she was getting—open stares from the men and looks of curiosity and perhaps a few of hostility from the women. But she also noticed the way women's eyes followed Rory, how their gazes travelled down his body and back to his face. 

She thought she saw a few glances of recognition but paid them no mind. Rory had his hand on the bare skin of her back and was guiding her to her seat. He pulled it out for her like a perfect gentleman and helped her push it in before taking his own seat. 

Dinner was prime rib and scampi, and even Emma acknowledged that it was delicious. But the looks Rory were giving her spoke of his taste for other things. She was sure there were times he would have preferred to be devouring her instead of the steak. She sipped the wine and tried to focus on other things. 

But it was difficult, because she also wanted to resume teasing him. When it came time for the guest speaker to give a speech a lot of people were still eating. Emma and Rory had finished so she turned her head to see the speaker but reached over to take his hand on the edge of the table. It was innocent, her hand holding his, but he seemed to enjoy it. 

As the speaker talked about his charity, Emma couldn't for the life of her focus on what he was saying. She kept glancing at Rory, who appeared to be listening to the speaker. His eyebrows were drawn down slightly as though he was concentrating, and he wasn't smiling. He looked so handsome in his black shirt, with those two buttons undone. Emma's fingers tingled at the memory of undoing those buttons. And although she had seen him several times with no shirt, the idea of pulling his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning every button, slowly and deliberately, to reveal his magnificent chest, had her shifting in her seat. 

He had her fingers in his grasp so she pushed her hand closer to him so her fingertips brushed his palm, and she started tracing circles and spirals there. She pretended to watch the speaker but all she saw was a faceless man. She wasn't even hearing what he was saying. All her attention, every other one of her senses were focused on the man sitting beside her. She could smell his cologne, could feel the tough skin on his palm and the tips of his fingers as they rested against the underside of her wrist. She could hear his breathing becoming slightly louder, and her desire was so strong she felt as though she could taste it. 

Then she started to trace letters in his palm—first an E, slowly so he would know what she was doing. Then the M, and she paused. Another M, another pause. And then an A, before she pressed her palm to his and held onto him, willing his warmth to seep into her blood. She wanted to brand him with memories of her so that he would never forget her. 

People started clapping around them and she realized the speaker had finished. She guiltily looked at Rory who smiled widely back at her and they both clapped, though she was sure neither of them had any idea of why. Then they announced the dancing, a small orchestra lined up on the stage off to one side, and the music began. 

Rory was standing before she realized what he was doing, and he reached his hand out to her. She grasped it, although she was looking at the people on the dance floor. "Rory, I don't know if this is a good idea. My heels are too high, what if I trip and fall?" 

But Rory was apparently ready for that—he used her hand to pull her up against his body and whispered into her ear, "I would never let you fall." Then he pulled back and looked so deeply into her eyes that she felt as though he could see how much she was going to miss him. 

He was true to his word—he never did let her fall, even through some of the faster paced dances. His grip was always tight on her and though he laughed most of the time, chatting with her about inconsequential things or purring into her ear how beautiful she was, she did detect more than a few irritated glances that he shot at other men. It would appear as though many of them were watching her when she had her back turned, and it amused and excited her that Rory didn't seem to like it at all. 

As the evening wore on the music slowed, the older guests started to file out and soon the dance floor was sparsely populated. Emma stood with her arms up and around Rory's neck, clasped behind him. He stood, rocking them both back and forth, slowly gliding their feet this way and that, but looking down at her as though she was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. It made Emma both very happy to see his expression, and also very sad. He must have seen it because his brow furrowed, and he bent to kiss her temple. 

"Rory, saying goodbye is going to be hard." 

He nodded. "I know, but let's not think of it." His deep voice, that sultry accent, rippled over her like waves on a lake surface. 

"I can't help it," she said sadly. "I have had so much fun, and you've been true to your word and made me so happy. My vacation is destined to end and I'm sad about that." She pulled her arms down and wrapped them around his back, pressing her cheek to his chest. He in turn took her in his arms and traced lazy lines up and down her bare back. She could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes and felt that she could stay there, him holding her and her holding him, forever. 

"I know what you mean," he said heavily and she heard him sigh into her hair. With heels on she stood high enough that he could rest his lips on the top of her head, as he did now. 

There was nothing left to be said. They had established that goodbye was imminent, that both of them didn't like it, and that they would have as much fun as they could from now until then. It was the memories that fueled them both, she was sure. Memories that would sustain them after they had said goodbye. She was certain he felt for her what she felt for him. 

What exactly DID she feel for him? No, she stopped herself. She wouldn't go there. Wouldn't make it so that she would have to live forever with a broken heart. He was Rory and she was Emma and they were going to have a great week together. 

That was that. But she felt like crying. 

 

 

When the last song was played and Rory had had enough of Emma sweetly playing with the V of his shirt, he asked her if she was okay. He knew she was sad, knew also that she dwelled on things out of her control. He had his life to return to and she had hers—her business, her family. It was both unfortunate that they had met under such circumstances, and yet fortunate to have found one another for a wonderful week. Rory was going to give Meghan a big brotherly kiss for cancelling on him at the last minute. 

Emma said she was okay, but that her feet were sore and she was ready to go back to their room. Knowing she couldn't very well take off her shoes in the ballroom, but also seeing that there were only a couple people left, he scooped her up into his arms and grabbed her clutch off the table before striding out of the ballroom. She chuckled but laid her head down against his shoulder, nuzzling his neck with her nose. He felt her smell him, felt her intake of breath and the soft, long sigh against his skin that followed. 

He had a feeling she had forgotten about the game and it was just as well. Playing that game this late at night was a recipe for disaster. They might both do something they would forget. 

He carried her into the elevator, held her while they rode up the five stories, and down the hall to their room. He only put her down when it was time to unlock the door and enter. 

"Why don't you go get comfortable and I'll get us a drink. Is coffee okay?" 

Emma smiled at him, and he knew she just wasn't used to someone offering to do things for her. But her smile said she liked it, so he was going to keep doing it—anything that would keep her looking at him like that. 

"Yes, thank you," she replied, before turning and disappearing into her room. As he watched her walk away, watched her bottom encased in the tight pink fabric, her muscular calves as she walked, and that damned bare expanse of back that his hands ached to touch, he wasn't sure how he was going to survive four more days of spending time with her. 

When she exited he was still wearing the clothes he had worn to dinner but had unbuttoned one more button and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up on his forearms. Emma stopped suddenly, standing there with bare legs, wearing only his t-shirt and whatever else she had underneath. Her gaze raked over him appreciatively, and she retrieved her phone from her clutch and turned it on, snapping a photo of him as he was then, leaning against the counter. 

How amusing she was, he thought. He hadn't known his current state of being would warrant immortalizing in a photo. But if she thought so, then who was he to judge—he let her have her moment. 

She sat on the couch and turned on the TV, asking him if he wanted to finish their movie from the night before. He had his back turned to her so he nodded, but as he stirred her coffee he closed his eyes and willed himself not to dwell on what had happened on that couch the night before. 

Too late. 

He remembered the way she had crawled on top of him to get friction between her legs, how his body had responded so forcefully and immediately to her movements. Her kiss had been frantic, and though he had played at resisting her, he had known all along it was just a ploy. He had wanted it as much as she had, and the culmination of their actions—her magnificent release—had been the works of fantasy. There had never been, nor there ever would be, anything so erotic as her above him calling his name amidst her climax. 

He sloshed coffee over the side of her cup and quietly cursed, retrieving a paper towel to wipe up his mess. It was enough to calm him, to remind him that tonight he was going to pamper her and show her that their nights need not end up horizontal on the couch. It was part of the reason why he had kept his clothes on, though he wasn't sure how successful that had been since even as he was dressed now she had felt compelled to take a photo of him. But he wanted her to know that he wasn't going go shirtless to tease her, wasn't going to get too comfortable. Tonight was her night, and he was going to prove it to her. 

He walked over with their coffees and put them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then he sat on the opposite end of the couch, one leg drawn up and his body angled at her. "You were on your feet for over an hour tonight in those heels, would you like me to rub your feet?" 

Emma looked at him like he had two heads. "You would do that for me?" He had taken a drink of his coffee and now set it down on the table, smiling at her. 

"Emma, I would do anything for you," he said, and meaning it. So she stretched out on the couch and put her feet on his one bent leg, controlling the remotes and sending him surreptitious glances every once in a while to make sure, he was certain, that he had meant it when he said he would do anything for her. Apparently rubbing her feet had been an off-limits activity for Nitwit. 

The movie they had started watching the night before had a good deal of humor in it so they both laughed quite a bit during the second half. Rory alternated between her feet, rubbing her toes and the balls of her feet, her arches and her heels. Occasionally he'd see her close her eyes and sigh the most contented sigh, then open them to continue watching the movie. He became a little more bold and lifted her foot a couple times to massage her calf, but never stayed there for long and always returned to her feet. 

He kept up with that until the end credits rolled on the movie, and Emma sat up, thanking him for the foot rub. 

"That felt wonderful, Rory, thank you so much." He looked over at her on the other end of the couch. 

"I told you, anything," he said with a smile. Then he motioned for her to stay where she was and he went into the bathroom. Before long he walked out amidst a cloud of steam, towel hanging from his arm. "You're bath, mi'lady," he said with a courtly bow, and she giggled. 

"Rory!" She exclaimed, getting up to inspect what he had done. The lights were down, the tub was full of steaming water, and there were two small candles burning at the foot of the tub. "You are a man of many wonders, Rory McCann," she said, though when she looked at him he felt ten feet tall. "What am I going to do with you?" 

He knew he should walk away but he just couldn't—smiling down at her, he bent to place a quick kiss on her lips, something he had wanted to do all evening. "You could invite me in," he said, raising one eyebrow and smiling broadly. She squawked something about "The nerve" and bodily pushed him out of the doorway to the bathroom, laughing all the while. He handed her the towel and barely managed to pull his hand away before she shut the door firmly in his face. 

When he was confident she was in the tub, it was time to fix up her room and turn down her bed—a small thing but one he knew she would notice. They had talked about walking the gift shops downtown the next day and he wanted both of them to be well rested. 

When he was done in her room, he walked out and found her phone, guessing that she wouldn't mind sharing with him the photos of them they had been taking. Getting out his phone he placed them side by side and connected them with the Bluetooth connection, then opened her gallery. 

There were so many photos, as she had taken more of the scenery and animals they had seen than she did. She had many from the museum today, and funny one of them making weird faces outside with the museum in the background, and a couple from the café they had had lunch at. 

But the ones he wasn't expecting to see were all of him, unaware he was being photographed. There was one of him studying a display of mounted animals, one of him reading the description of a ceremonial Alaskan native dress, and another of him standing back and examining a painting he had been particularly fond of. 

Only a few showed most of his face as he figured that would have been harder to do and not be seen. In one he was laughing at something she had said but he was looking out the window of the little cafe. He looked happy, he had to admit. He had worn his baseball cap earlier and had turned it backwards while he ate his food. The sunlight reflecting off the snow was proving a good amount of light for the photo, and he had on a full, open-mouthed smile. How she had captured him in such a natural state of joy, he would never know. She was a woman of wonders. 

There was one photo of him that really caught him by surprise. He had on only his sweatpants, and he was standing in the morning light looking out the window. His back was to her, but his head was turned to the side slightly and he wasn't smiling. That she had taken a photo of him shirtless was a bit of a turn-on. It must have been from that morning, and he remembered he had been thinking of how hard it was going to be to say goodbye. 

He looked away from the phone, pondering it again now. How did one go from living with someone who made them happy, whom it made him happy to make HER happy, and then to live without her? Could it be done? 

And then, as that thought scared him a bit that he was even questioning its possibility, he finished transferring the photos he wanted, transferred some photos to her phone and stood to plug them in to the wall chargers in the kitchen. He was 44 and she was 31. Age difference notwithstanding, they were in different times in their lives. He was about to head off to Ireland to film another season of the TV show, which would take about two months plus a few months of intermittent panels, interviews, and promos for the show. And Emma, as he had continually reminded himself for two days now, had her family and her business to return to. She had to work on rebuilding the life she had let go for the last five years. 

Life had both given them this wonderful gift, and had also played a cruel joke on them. 

No, it just wasn't fair. It had to be, but it wasn't fair. And with that thought he went to his bedroom to change. 

 

 

Not long after, Emma came out of the bathroom feeling very relaxed and very tired. That foot rub had been amazing, and the bath totally unexpected. He was spoiling her, and she didn't mind. She blushed at the thought of him telling her she could invite him into the bath with her, because as tempting as that had been, she just couldn't do it. 

That didn't mean she hadn't spent the entire time she was in the bath thinking about what it would have been like—his back to the sloped foot of the tub, her sitting between his legs with her back to him, and of course they would both be naked. Apart from the implications of that position, she had also pictured herself holding one of his hands and washing it with a cloth, rubbing her hands along his thighs and knees under the water, leaning her head back against him and feeling his breath in her hair, his kisses at her temple. She had never taken a bath with anyone before but it was certainly tempting now. 

But no, they must not repeat what had happened the night before. Tonight Rory had seemed determined to respect her, to keep his distance for the most part. They still touched, and he had given her that surprising and adorable kiss before she took a bath, but it was a kiss that spoke of his affection for her, not lust. And she had liked it, very much. Affection was something she could get used to. 

She had brushed her teeth and was ready for bed so in order to say goodnight she had to find him in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. The door had been open partway so she leaned against the door frame and knocked softly, crossing her arms over her chest. Rory looked over and smiled softly but it didn't reach his eyes. 

Ah, she thought, he is just as contemplative as I am. Introspective, she thought was the word. 

She slowly walked over to him, her hair still piled high on her head from wanting to keep it out of the bath. "I'm going to go to bed," she said, and he looked up at her. For an instant there was the mask, the same one he had worn when she had said goodbye to him at the airport and had turned her back on him. She wasn't turning her back on him now, but she was letting him know what was—or what wasn't, rather—going to happen tonight. Although she was sure he agreed. 

But then the mask disappeared, and he reached out, unfurling her arms and wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her close between his legs and turned his head to the side, resting the side of his face against her chest. It was such a poignant position, Emma had to fight back tears. She wrapped an arm behind his back and one behind his head, and let her face fall to his hair. 

He sighed, she sighed, and they stood there for she didn't know how long. But it was comfortable, even when one of his arms dropped to wrap around the backs of her thighs. He was just settling into the position and she could feel that. 

It felt so natural and so good. It felt like he belonged there and she belonged there, in exactly that position. If either of them had had access to their phones she thought they likely wouldn't have taken a picture. This was a feeling that, as the moments wore on, was being ingrained into her bones. For the rest of her life she wouldn't forget how it felt to hold this man in her arms in mutual tranquility. He was so incredibly close to her breasts, could dip his head and touch them with his mouth if he so chose, and yet the embrace had no erotic quality to it. She stroked his hair with one hand, sliding it from his temple and over his ear, down the side of his neck, then returned to do it again and again. 

She kissed the top of his head while she did it, somehow feeling that it was her turn to offer soothing assurances and tender touches. If a grown man—not just any grown man, but this one, her Rory—at 44 years old and six and a half feet tall, wanted to be hugged and soothed in this manner, she would stand there for as long as he needed her to. 

After a while his arms slid down her body until they were once again resting against his legs. He pulled back as her arms dropped away. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and those downturned eyes looked up at her with such tenderness that she leaned down to place the softest of kisses against his lips. "Sweet dreams, Rory," she said. 

"Sweet dreams, Emma," he replied, his accent thick, and with that she turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. 

The next day their energy levels were high, as they had both finally had a full night's rest. Emma cooked them eggs and bacon, and had set bowls of watermelon beside their plates. They ate in a companionable silence, Rory reading the paper and Emma staring out the window, lost in thought as usual. 

Something was changing between them and she couldn’t explain it if someone had asked her to. She was attracted to him, and she knew he was attracted to her. They flirted, sometimes very openly, and at other times they both seemed to sense a certain breed of distance was required. She really didn’t know where to go with what was developing, as though someone had put her on a path that branched into innumerable directions, and then told her to get to Point B, with no map. Which direction should she go in? Where could she find out? And what was point B? 

But she still felt, unlike in the very beginning, that she deserved to enjoy this vacation. Rory was amazing, generous, kind and funny. There were times when the inevitable parting seemed to weigh on her, to begin the crushing of her heart that would happen when she finally boarded the plane and left his life, this time together, forever. 

And then he would look at her with those soulful brown eyes, he would stroke her hand as they sat together, press a kiss to her hair, do something surprising for her, or just be there for her in a moment of sadness, and the feelings of impending loneliness would be pushed aside—gone for that moment, but certainly not forgotten. But it was enough, enough for her to be able to enjoy his company, to let her thoughts drift to what a handsome man he was, and to how lucky she was to have him for this week. 

Luck was looking over her when she reserved that plane ticket amidst her anger and grief. She had been put directly into the path of the oncoming Rory McCann, a man she had initially had a ridiculous grown-woman-crush on. He was so handsome in real life, as she had seen by all the photos and interviews she’d watched. And the character he played on the show suited him so well, the dark and sinister scarred outcast who eventually learns how to be human again. Even now she was looking forward to seeing how his character developed in the next season (And she would be SO upset if the writers killed off his character!) 

Whatever had prompted his sister to postpone her trip for a week, Emma would likely never know. Rory had told her Meghan was due to arrive several hours after Emma was due to depart, so there was no chance she would ever meet the woman. And she’d never get to see how Rory was with his nephew, whether he liked kids, tolerated them, or just plain old could do without them. Somehow she was confident that Rory adored his nephew. He didn’t talk much about Stephen but she could see affection in his eyes when he spoke of his family. 

Her thoughts drifted back to their plans for today. They had decided just once to explore Fairbanks on foot, seeing as how the temperature had risen to zero degrees that day. Still cold enough for all her new winter gear but not so cold that they couldn’t wander between shops without freezing to death. 

Their plan was to visit as many gift shops as they could. Emma planned to resume their game of Inconspicuous Flirting. Rory had been so sweet and receptive to her affections last night, but she had a feeling that now, with a full night's sleep, he would up his game if he caught on to what she was doing. Now she just had to decide when to do it. 

While he still ate she cleared her plate and went to choose her outfit. She settled on the light blue jeans that she knew were sinfully tight on her butt, and chose her plain white shirt with the sleeves that went just below her elbows. It hugged her body and had a low, scooped neckline. Because of this she often wore a colored cami tank top underneath, but not today. She smiled to herself. The idea of driving Rory wild was starting to excite her. 

For practicality she braided her hair over one shoulder, as she would likely be wearing a beanie most of the day. Then she grabbed her purse and walked out of the bedroom. 

Rory did his best not to look at her, she could see. She walked over to the edge of the counter to retrieve her phone and could see him staring in the reflection of the oven. Ah, the perfect opportunity! 

She pretended to look at photos of her phone for just a minute, then put it down on the counter and made it look like she wanted to study it closer. She put her forearms on the counter, effectively putting her butt on display for him, and scrolled through her Instagram account, not really seeing anything. Her eyes were on Rory, who sat frozen in the reflection, hand on his coffee cup. 

But she didn’t want to push her luck so she quickly stood up and tucked her phone in her purse. Then she turned to Rory who cleared his throat and turned the page on his newspaper. “Are you about ready to head out?” She asked him. She we in fact ready except for getting her gear on, and Rory was still in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He grumbled something about give him a couple minutes and he disappeared into his bedroom. He did in fact come out soon after and started for their gear pile by the door. 

Emma did the same, though she got down on her knees to rifle through the pile and sort it into two piles, right in front of Rory. Right where he would have a clear view down the front of her shirt. 

He was going to lose this battle. She doubted he would come up with anything better. 

She kept sorting, noting that his feet did not move, but she didn’t want to look him in the eye for fear she would give away the game. But she had a hard time not smiling, guessing what kind of grief she was putting him through. 

Eventually he reached down and grabbed the whole pile of his gear and walked over to the couch to put it on. She did look at him then, and she noted he was tying his boots rather aggressively. It was all she could do to not giggle. She decided to give him a rest and got her gear on by the door. 

Emma acted like nothing was amiss when they walked to the elevator, and indeed even Rory seemed affable now that she wasn’t throwing herself into his line of sight. She had so many layers of winter gear on that she decided she looked more like a pink and yellow marshmallow than a woman. 

Rory was as handsome as ever, wearing his black beanie, red scarf (which he had reclaimed for the day), black ski coat and black snow pants. They both had their cold weather gloves and warm boots on. He still hadn’t shaved and his beard was now a bit longer than what it was when she’d first seen him on the plane. But it was Rory ,the man himself, who had helped convince her that facial hair was sexy, and all she wanted to do when she looked at it was to run her fingers over it. 

She was deliberately trying to bait him but he didn’t have to do anything to bait her. Just… stand there. She smiled at the thought. 

Their day proceeded pretty much uneventfully. They had another round (in almost every gift shop) of her racing to buy her post cards before he could realize what she was doing. Sometimes she went so far as to hand the cards and cash to the cashier while she was looking the opposite direction. It still didn’t work, but it was fun to watch her bull in a China shop move fast enough to ask for the money back from the cashier. 

Then in an art gallery they came across, she had been studying a small sculpture decorated with gold flake and mounted on a piece of petrified mammoth tusk. Rory came up to her and inquired if she wanted it and she had said a very enthusiastic yes. But she couldn’t help but laugh as his eyes widened when he read the $2,000 gift tag. She had to hug his arm for support for laughing so hard. 

They found a small hole in the wall restaurant that served middle eastern food, amongst the gift shops, and chose to eat there. It was just past lunchtime so there weren’t very many people at the small tables. Rory had taken off his coat and put it on the 3rd chair beside them when he got up and stood behind her to take some of her gear. He lifted her coat out of the way, took her scarf and beanie, and then caught her off guard by pressing his lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear. His breath tickled her skin and she shivered as he whispered, “Two can play that game.” 

He came back around to sit and Emma felt warmth bloom on her face and chest. She had indeed been drawing his attention intentionally to her breasts. But he'd known what she was doing, so… the only thing she knew to do, she decided, was to continue. 

As she studied the small menu she played with her braid, pulling it over her shoulder and running her fingers along its length until they came to rest on the curling end. She gripped the end and lifted it to her face, drawing its softness across her mouth while using her other finger to guide her gaze along the list of menu items. She felt Rory shift in his seat as she trailed the end down her neck, in a path along her collarbone, and down the center of her chest. Then she repeated the process in reverse, returning the end to her lips and gently rubbing them with the hair. 

“Emma,” Rory fairly growled. She looked up at him. 

“Hmm? Oh yes, I think I’ll have the Mediterranean crepe.” She smiled at him, though she allowed her intentions to be known in her gaze. “And you? What would you like?” she continued to rub her lips with the end of her braid, smiling up at his smoldering look. 

“What I like,” he began, before looking directly at her cleavage and then back up at her face, “Is not on the menu.” But the corners of his mouth were upturned, his laugh lines deepened and there was an amused twinkle in his eye. All of a sudden Emma was burning up. 

The waiter came by and took their order, interrupting the game for a moment. He brought back her chai tea and his cappuccino quickly but said the food would only be a few minutes. Under the table Rory reached out with his legs and held one of hers between them. 

“You play dirty, Emma,” he said, though he looked like he was having fun with it. She thought she would remind him of who he was talking to, so she brought up the night before. 

“Not dirty enough to bathe together,” she said with a wink, and he laughed so loud a few heads turned in their direction. Then she asked him outright, “Can I take a photo of you?” 

Rory smiled widely at her. “Only if I can take a photo of you.” She nodded her approval and they brought out their phones. For her, Rory glanced down at her cleavage once again and then as he looked up, pulled his lower lip under his teeth. It was so sexy, she mirrored his look as she took the photo. 

Then it was his turn so she put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. She gave his phone a look of utter desire, knowing that at this point in their time together, that wasn’t very hard to pull off. Rory dropped his phone a bit and brought up the photo, still smiling. Be shook his head and made a “Mm mm mm,” sound before sliding his phone into his pocket. Then they smiled at each other and their food arrived, momentarily putting off the continuation of their game. 

Small talk was easy with him. They both seemed to appreciate the same amounts of silences and chatter, sometimes talking about inconsequential things and sometimes just sitting, not talking but holding hands. When they finished their food they sat just so, each one drinking the rest of their drink. 

When it was time to go Emma took one last drink and felt some leftover foam on the corner of her lip. Before she could get her napkin to wipe it off, Rory reached over and did it with his thumb, then put his thumb in his mouth to suck off the coffee. A shiver went up her spine and she had to turn her back on him to get her coat on, leastwise she give in to her desire and kiss him right there in the restaurant. 

The day was fun, full of activity and teasing, flirting and shopping. Emma could honestly say that she had never had more fun with anyone before. She smiled, laughed and enjoyed living more in the three days she had spent with Rory than she had, perhaps in the last year. She didn’t tell him though, as doing so would amplify the sadness of their impending goodbye. 

They spent that evening in more companionable silence, Emma painting design after design on her bare thigh while Rory sat at the couch reading yet another newspaper. Every time she stopped to take a photo of a design he would get up to see, tell her how amazing it looked, and then she would wipe it off and start fresh. She was building her skills as well as a more current gallery of her work. 

And that night before they went to bed they both stood between their bedroom doors, he in his sweatpants, bare chested, and she in his t-shirt, embracing as what was becoming more common—like it was a goodbye. Neither said it, and neither admitted to feeling it, but the emotions were there all the same. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, she had a hand on his chest by her face and one wrapped behind his back. She tried memorizing the smell of his skin, his height, the feel of his strong arms around her, before they parted with a sweet but chaste kiss. 

 

 

They had nothing planned for the next two days so they spent most of their time in their hotel room, with Emma cooking different foods for both of them and Rory eating every single bite she put in front of him. She painted often, mostly putting on his t-shirt so she could use her thigh as a canvas. Rory preferred walking around in just sweatpants, so they lounged and watched TV and sat in their respective silences, completely content. 

They kept their physical encounters fairly tame, although he now liked to come up behind her while she was cooking and wrap his arms around her waist. She didn't seem to mind, and they would shuffle together around the kitchen while she cooked, laughing. Sometimes he would rub her shoulders while she cooked, or stand beside her while rubbing her back. 

She also had stepped up her touching of him, he'd noticed. One time while they were watching a movie she asked him to lay down with his head in her lap. He acquiesced and she proceeded to stroke his hair, his ear, and his neck for the entire movie. If she had asked him he wouldn't have been able to tell her what the movie was about, but he had enjoyed it all the same. His mind spent the whole time memorizing the feel of her touching him. 

As Emma pulled the luggage out of her bedroom on Monday night Rory watched her from the dining table, the mask of indifference firmly set in place. Tonight would be their last night together in this hotel room. Tomorrow they would spend their final night together at the hot spring. Today Emma had purchased an extra duffel bag for her new snow gear as well as a bathing suit, which she hadn't shown him at the store. 

He didn't like what the packed luggage meant. It was so final, so definite. He felt grumpy. 

“Would you like to brush my hair?” Rory looked up at her face. He was trying not to be sad but it was hard. She had a small smile on her face and he sensed she was trying to cheer him up. He had to admit, it sounded like a nice activity. 

He gave a curt nod and she walked over, handing him the brush before turning around to stand with her back to him. "Start at the bottom," she suggested and he took her advice. There were knots all the way up but he noted that starting at the bottom meant much fewer knots to actually pull the brush through. 

There were a couple times she laughed and went with the brush, advising him to hold the hair above the knot before brushing it out. But other than that, he felt it was a very private thing he was doing. He didn't know of any men who admitted to brushing their girlfriend's or wife's hair, but Rory liked it. She had beautiful hair, dark brown and smooth, soft and wavy. When the brushing was done and he could pull the brush from her scalp to the ends with no knots, he put the brush down and gathered her hair in his hands, bringing it to his face so he could smell it and feel its softness against his face. 

"I'm going to miss this," he muttered, more to himself than for her benefit. And he was. Back in Scotland he lived alone, no companion to spend time with, no one to cook with, no one to watch movies with. If he wanted company he had to go to a pub or call someone. He had to contact Meghan and arrange a time to see her and Stephen. Over the last six days he had gotten used to having Emma around, and in less than 48 hours she would be gone. 

Emma turned around then and her hair slipped out of his hands. She smiled a sad, knowing smile, then went to get her phone. She walked back to where he hadn't moved at the dining table and stepped in close between his legs. Then she wrapped an arm around him, waited for him to do the same and to put his head against her chest, and she rested her cheek against the top of his. 

The photo was poignant. He asked her to send him a copy, which she did. They both looked at it on their phones and smiled sadly at each other. 

Rory just couldn't stand it any longer. "Let's go for a drive," he said, and Emma's smile warmed him. 

They quickly got dressed and he started the truck to make it warm for them. Emma stole his scarf and wrapped it around her neck before he could say anything. He didn't mind—it would smell like her when she was gone. 

Rory guided Emma into the truck downstairs and walked around to get in the driver's side, but stopped short when he saw that she had lifted the console and was now sitting in the middle seat, buckling her seatbelt. "Why haven't you been doing this for days?" He asked, chuckling as he got in and buckled his own seatbelt. Then he put his arm on the back of the seat and she leaned into him, sighing heavily. 

She kept one hand in her lap and the other on his thigh, though he still managed to drive like a sane person. He would occasionally give her a squeeze with his arm, or rub her arm through her coat. It felt so right, having her beside him like this. 

They drove down some roads that according to the GPS circled around to the other side of town, but before actually getting into town they saw a pull off that overlooked the city. Rory pulled over, turned off his headlights and put on the soft classical music they both liked. 

"So you're going to be staying with your parents?" He asked, wanting to talk instead of sit in silence, moping about parting ways. Emma nodded. 

"Just until I get my business back off the ground. I did pretty well last time, there's a good market for face painters in the birthday crowd. I even had a party store giving me all their party referrals, so I was busy every weekend." She sighed. "It shouldn't be long before I have my own place." 

Rory thought he detected sadness or uncertainty in her voice. "Is that what you want?" 

He heard her smile in her voice. "I suppose. I mean, I never thought I would be 31 and living with my parents. I thought I'd be married with kids by now." 

Rory paused before asking, "Is THAT what you want?" 

"Well, yes... or no, not now. I don't know. I just don't know what the cards hold for me, you know? A week ago my life was on track to be all those things and more, I just didn't like the guy I was with. I would have married him for the dream, but I wouldn't have been happy." She lowered her face even more out of his view. "And now I'm with a guy I like, and things can't be the way I want them to be." 

"Emma," he said gruffly, "We don't have to talk like this." He was tired of the reminders that they had no future together. But she went on, sounding hurt. 

"I know, Rory. But I'm telling the truth. I'm not going to say all the What Ifs, but they're there. We are good together, Rory. You're fun and caring. You're everything Keith wasn't. Except available." She sighed again, and Rory watched as she brought her hand up to wipe away a tear. He let out a sound that was close to a growl. 

"Emma, don't do this to yourself." Then he corrected himself, deciding to be truthful. "Don't do this to US. We have a whole day tomorrow to spend together. Let's be happy, okay?" He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. There were tears on both cheeks and he kissed them away, and then he kissed her mouth, gently and sadly as she grabbed a fistful of the front of his jacket. 

"It's not fair, Rory," she said against his lips, a small sob escaping as he pressed against her mouth, willing her to open her lips. She did and his tongue traced the line of her lower lip, and then it was tangling with hers, bringing back memories of the night they had come together on the couch, tired and delirious but so consumed by each other. 

She let go of his jacket and wrapped that hand behind his neck, pulling against him as though she couldn't get close enough. He grabbed the lever under the seat and suddenly it was sliding backwards, catching her off guard. But it only took seconds for him to shift both of them over so he was more sitting on the middle seat and to coax her up onto his lap, straddling him. 

He groaned as she whimpered and their mouths came together once again, desperate, so desperate for each other. His hands grasped her bottom through her leggings, slid under her jacket and shirt to feel the bare skin of her back. She wrapped her hands around his neck, grabbing at his short hair, mashing their faces together so she could get more of him, taste more of him. He poured all of his lust and sadness and longing into everything he did, everywhere he touched, and felt as though she was doing the same. 

She broke away from their kiss and started to kiss his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead and his nose. She bent his head to the side and kissed his neck and under his chin, sucking hard on a spot under his right ear where he knew she would leave a mark. And he felt her teeth, good god he felt her teeth scrape against his pulse and could only growl his arousal. 

He was hard, pushing against his pants. Grasping her hips he rubbed her against him and felt her shiver. As he pushed and pulled at her hips she brought her mouth back to his, put her hands on his face and kissed him with all the passion she had pent up inside her. 

"Touch me," she breathed against his mouth as she took his lower lip between her teeth. He groaned and she quickly unzipped her jacket, letting him know exactly where she wanted to be touched. Still kissing her he brought his hands up past her hips, slid them up her waist and into her shirt where he found the barrier of her bra. It took a single try to unhook it in the back and suddenly he had her breasts in his hands and they felt glorious. They were small and soft, her nipples pert in his palms and then between his thumbs and fingers as he pinched and squeezed, testing to see what she liked. She moaned and whimpered through it all. 

"Yes, Rory," she cried out, grinding her hips down on his lap. Damn the truck, he thought, because he couldn't get his mouth to her chest. Oh, what he wouldn't give to take her breasts in his mouth, to taste her and feel her with his tongue. She went to the spot on his neck again and sucked hard, and he growled into the air as he wrapped his arms around her and ground her down onto his hardness. 

Then she started to whimper, started to whisper his name over and over again and he knew what was going to happen. His heart near burst with anticipation of what was happening to her body and he reveled in her reaction as she pressed her open mouth to his and cried out. 

A shudder racked her body and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, breathing heavily. "Rory..." She didn't lift her head, though as her hands dropped to his waist they crept under his jacket and his shirt to rest on his skin. 

Rory kissed the side of her head and whispered gruffly into her ear, "I thought we'd agreed that would not happen again." He was still incredibly turned on but there was nothing he could do about it. He refused to do that to her, even though he was pretty sure they could make it happen there, in the truck. He smiled ruefully, acknowledging that that fantasy would have to stay inside his mind. 

"We did," she said, turning her face into his neck. She gently kissed the spot where he guessed a bruise would appear tomorrow. "We did agree that it wouldn't happen... So it's good that we agreed that it could happen one more time." She lifted her head and smiled at him, resting her forehead against his. "Only this time I don't have to regret it," and she lowered her lips to his for a long, sensual kiss. Her hands came up to frame his face as his hands cradled her hip and gently stroked the skin of her lower back. 

A tap at the window made her scream and Rory cursed as he extricated himself from underneath her. When he was satisfied she was sitting in her seat and reasonably calm, he rolled down the window of the truck. A bright flashlight shone in his face and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes while trying to get a look at the offending person. 

"How are you guys doing tonight?" Came a voice, and Rory was sure it came from a police officer. The flashlight left his face and shone in Emma's, and she held up a hand also at the bright light. 

Rory caught sight of the badge on the front of the jacket, and now saw behind the man a parked patrol car with, thankfully, every light off except his headlights. 

"This is a known spot for parking but I must say, I usually find young kids. Could I get your ID, sir? And the ID of the lady?" He dropped the flashlight and Rory now saw the officer was trying not to smile. He looked younger than Rory, which was probably why he saw so much humor in their fogged up windows. Both Rory and Emma retrieved their IDs and watched as the officer walked back to his patrol car. Rory rolled up the window to keep the truck warm and looked over at Emma, who was blushing furiously. But she started to smile, and then she started to chuckle which made him laugh, and then suddenly they were both laughing so loudly that his stomach hurt and she had tears rolling down her cheeks. 

"Oh my goodness, Rory," she said between laughs. "I can't believe what's happening right now." 

Rory wiped at his face, his laughter subsiding. "I hope I don't get a charge for this on my record. Damn Americans," he laughed, reaching out to hold her hand. She laughed at that and smiled sweetly back at him. 

Another knock came at the window so he rolled it down. "Mr. McCann, could you step out and speak to me for a moment?" Somewhat alarmed Rory told him of course, and then shot Emma a look meant to calm her started expression. "I'll be right back," he said, wondering what the issue might be. 

When he closed the door of the truck the officer handed him back his ID, though he kept ahold of Emma's. "Mr. McCann, you're not being charged with anything at this time but I need to ask some questions. First, what are you doing out here tonight?" 

Rory, still confused, said, "We're just out for a drive." 

"And you decided to park here and... make out?" Again, the officer smirked at him. 

Rory was going to get irritated. "Yes, we just decided to make out," he agreed. 

"And have you paid her for her services?" 

Rory's good humor instantly melted away into anger. He had to remind himself he was talking to an officer of the law, but he was starting to see red. "I can assure you I have not. We have been together for the last week in a hotel room and she flies out day after tomorrow." 

"I see. Mr. McCann, do you understand that soliciting a prostitute is a serious offense, punishable here in the states with jail time?" 

Rory wanted to spit in the officer's face. Instead he ground out, "Yes." 

The officer seemed to ponder his response and Rory knew he wouldn't be able to convince the man of his innocence. He also anticipated the officer's next statement. 

"Alright, sir, will you please get back into the truck? I'd like to speak to Ms. Williamson." 

Rory did as he was told and passed along the message to Emma, who slid out of her side of the truck to speak with the officer. Rory couldn’t hear what they were saying but could hear the tone of their voices. At first they were courteous, and then he heard Emma begin to get upset, and finally he heard her tinkling laughter and the officer's return chuckle. The door on his side of the truck opened and Emma stood there with the officer, both of them smiling. 

"Mr. McCann, Ms. Williamson here has informed me that you are indeed dating and that there is no further cause for my troubling you." He handed Emma back her ID and Rory didn't like the smile he gave her. It was too sweet. 

But then the officer looked back at Rory and added, "I'm looking forward to the next season, Mr. McCann, or should I say Mr. Clegane?" And Rory's ire melted. He was always a sucker for fans. Before he knew it the officer was handing Emma his personal phone and Rory was smiling hugely with his arm wrapped around the officer, who barely hit his shoulder. 

After wishing them a good night and advising them to take it back to the hotel room, the officer left and Rory and Emma, now both cold, got back into the truck. Emma again sat in the middle seat, still chuckling at what had just happened. 

"Of all the things," Rory muttered, but he was in a fantastic mood. Then he remembered something the officer had said and he looked down at Emma. "Dating?" 

She looked up at him with a sweet, mischievous smile. "Rory, he was going to arrest us both for prostitution!" 

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Good thinking, then." He started the truck and began to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I laughed as I wrote that last scene! I guess I watch too many episodes of "Cops: Reloaded" :-D


	7. Leaving Will Be Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I took a break from my WIP's to write some more Sansan one-shots and a longer Sansan fic. Hopefully they'll be up soon.
> 
> But I wanted to revisit LOA and get a new chapter up. Like I said before, they're written, I just have to edit and post them.
> 
> Alas, life gets in the way sometimes. I hope y'all enjoy <3

Emma was a roller coaster of emotions. She was still thinking of what had happened between them, how right it had felt, and how good. And she was so surprised and amused at being called out by a police officer for making out like teenagers. His suggestion that she was a prostitute had angered her, but then his suggestion that Rory needed to pay a woman for sex had made her laugh out loud. Of course, the officer hadn't been able to put a face to a name so she had prompted him to look up Rory on his phone and saw who he was, which would have started a fan-to-fan conversation about Rory's TV show had she not reminded the officer how cold it was. 

The other emotion she was feeling was of course sadness, though her euphoric evening had nearly overpowered those feelings. She was still leaving and she still would never see Rory again, but she would have so many memories with him. 

They agreed to go to a late night diner for coffee. They also shared a piece of pie and found that where he ate chocolate ice cream, she preferred vanilla. She almost made the joke—almost—that, see? They couldn't be together. 

She held back, not because she didn't wish things were that simple, but because they both had reverted to not mentioning it at all. They were determined to enjoy their last hours together. 

They ate and talked, talked and ate, and all the while kept their hands together as much as possible. She ate with her right, he struggled somewhat to eat with his left, just so they could keep their hands together across the table. And when he was done before her, he sat and stared at their hands, rubbing the back softly and trailing his fingers over her knuckles. He traced down her fingers with his own and then pushed them between hers so that their fingers were intertwined. 

He waited for her to finish her ice cream and drank the rest of his coffee, but Emma could see it in him, the sadness. Determined to not let it ruin their evening, she finished quickly and suggested they do one more thing before heading back to the hotel. 

They returned to the pull off spot where they had earlier been questioned by the police officer and took several selfies with the city and the truck behind them. There had been good times in that truck, and she didn't want to forget any of it. When she told Rory so, she thought she detected a blush on his cheeks, but it also could have been the cold. 

It was late, nearly midnight, when they returned to the hotel room. They both agreed on a shower and Rory told her she could go first. When it was his turn she noted that he took longer than normal, and smiled to herself at what he must be doing. She only regretted not being able to do it for him, as over the past few days he had given her so much pleasure. 

She felt her cheeks flush when he exited the bathroom in sweatpants, having caught her mid-thought. If he thought anything was amiss, he didn't say. But he looked so handsome, with a few water drops still making their way through his chest hair, and his hair wet but combed. Afraid she was going to embarrass herself by propositioning him, she excused herself to her bedroom for a few minutes saying she wanted to write an email to her mom. 

And she did, though she left out anything about Rory. This time she did so because she didn't want to be reminded of him when she got home. It would just hurt too much. But she did tell her mom about the planned trip to the hot springs for aurora viewing tomorrow and how it would be a nice end to her mini-vacation. 

Rory was standing at the window staring out, like he did so often. Feeling as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. 

He was so tall, she was resting her cheek on his back below his shoulder blades. But he felt good in her arms—big, strong, warm. Everything she had come to appreciate in a man. This man. 

They stood there for a couple minutes before Rory turned and held her in his arms. Then he surprised her by pulling her by the hand over to the loveseat and perched on the back so that when he brought her in close again he could put his arms underneath hers and guide hers to around his neck. She chuckled but did in fact like the new hug position. 

“Change of scenery,” was what he whispered into her neck. And with one of her hands on his back and one on the back of his head stroking his hair, they stayed that way for several minutes. 

Then Rory pulled back to look her in the eyes and surprised her yet again. “Come to bed with me,” he said. His eyes held no hint of his intentions so she opened her mouth to ask but he shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen, but I thought tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night, we could sleep in the same bed.” 

Emma wasn’t sure it was a good idea. They were fiercely attracted to each other and the two times they had let their bodies take over it had led to an explosion of lust like she had never experienced before. 

But… if he was going to keep his libido in check then perhaps—no, she WOULD be able to keep hers in check. She looked up at him and nodded. Then added, “On one condition.” He had stood to get ready for bed but stopped, waiting for her to continue. She smiled. “That if I snore you’ll wake me up.” He laughed at that, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. Then he grabbed her about the waist and hugged her tightly. 

“Deal.” 

Emma took extra time getting ready for bed. She brushed her hair and her teeth, used mouthwash, and studied herself in the full length mirror. She was wearing his t-shirt and her panties but nothing else. She debated on whether to wear her bra to bed or not but decided against it. He had been specific about nothing happening, and really it boiled down to her wanting to be comfortable. Giving herself one last once over in the mirror, she walked out and pushed open the door to his bedroom. 

He sat on the edge of the bed wearing his sweatpants but stood when she entered. He looked nervous, but then again she was too. This was big, this sleeping together. She knew she wouldn’t regret it and was indeed looking forward to it. 

“Would you mind if I slept in my boxers?” He also looked like he hadn’t wanted to have to ask that. 

“Only if you don’t mind if I sleep braless,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled but then appeared to understand what she meant, and he gulped. 

“Maybe, uh… maybe we shouldn’t do this.” He was not taking off his sweatpants. His eyebrows were drawn down slightly and he looked concerned. His eyes also darted to her chest once or twice. 

Deciding to be more bold than she actually felt, Emma just said, “Rory, we can do this. Take your pants off and come to bed.” And with that she climbed into the bed on the side farthest from the door and laid down, waiting for him. She also watched him as he slid his sweatpants down his legs, revealing black boxer briefs. When he had said boxers she’d assumed he would wear normal, baggy boxers. It still would have been sexy, seeing him in his underwear for the first time. But seeing him now in the tight fitting boxer briefs, she realized she had underestimated the sexiness of the situation. 

Then she laughed. Good grief, she laughed because a small part of her had expected plaid boxers. 

At her laugh Rory raised an eyebrow at her as he hung his sweatpants on the back of a chair by the door. “Something funny?” he walked over to the bed and stood next to his side of the bed, hands on his hips. He was so gloriously handsome that Emma almost forgot to speak. And she could see his… outline. Oh heavens. 

She blushed madly and looked up at him. “They’re not plaid,” she said with a big grin on her face. At that Rory laughed out loud and slid into the bed. 

“Just because I’m from Scotland doesn’t mean every piece of clothing I own is plaid.   
Although,” he added as he laid down and faced her in the bed, “I do have a really nice plaid suit that I wear sometimes.” 

Emma giggled. The image of Rory in a plaid suit was just too funny. But then she yawned, and she had to admit to him that she was in fact really tired. He nodded, agreeing. 

“And we have a busy day tomorrow. The northern lights forecast is good so we have a good chance of seeing them at the hot springs.” 

Emma nodded but they seemed to be at an impasse—how to get comfortable for sleep? Again taking control of the situation, she pushed on Rory’s shoulder so he would lay on his back, and after he got comfortable, she curled up at his side, pressing her body against him and laying her head on his shoulder. 

Rory grunted but then tightened his arms around her. She took that to mean he approved. 

The hair on his bare chest tickled her face, but she turned into it and kissed his collarbone anyway. That's when she noticed the mark on his neck. “Oh dear,” she said out loud, tracing it with her finger. “I did that?” he chuckled and nodded. 

“It felt good,” he replied and she felt herself flush. She had never given a hickey before. 

Though she had to admit that she liked it. It was almost like she had branded him her’s. 

“Thank you, Rory, for suggesting this.” 

“The hickey?” Emma laughed out loud and tossed her arm around his chest to hug him to her tighter. 

“No. Sleeping together. It already feels nice.” She yawned again as if to prove her point. 

Rory chuckled, but he reached down to tilt her face up towards his. “You’re welcome, Emma.” 

And he placed a sweet, soft kiss on her lips. When she lowered her head she was asleep almost immediately. 

 

 

Rory woke up in the most compromising position of his life. Emma's backside was nestled against his hard arousal, one of her legs was caught between both of his, her arm was thrown backwards over his waist and his hand was cupping her bare breast through the thin fabric of the t-shirt. 

Well, fuck. 

He was instantly fully awake, but also aware that he had slept like the dead. He had no recollection of waking during the night at all, which was unusual. He was normally a fairly light sleeper. 

It must have been this little minx that he held captive right now, this woman who had turned his world upside down in seven short days. Thirty-one or not, she felt like she belonged to him. It wasn’t fit, just as she had said last night, that fate had brought them together and life would tear them apart. 

Emma stirred and rather than dwell on the future, he chose to live in the now. He pulled her closer with the hand on her breast and clasped her leg tighter between his own. He wanted her to wake up, wanted her to feel what she did to him. 

“Rory?” came her sleepy voice. The arm that had been slung over his waist now came forward to rest on his hand at her chest. She sighed, “Mmmm,” and pulled and pushed at his legs with hers, wiggling her bottom against his hardness. 

He felt her come to a state of awareness then, and she froze. “Rory?” she said again, but he decided to see how she would react. He feigned sleep, not answering her. When he didn’t she seemed to relax a bit, although he knew she couldn’t ignore the pressure against her bottom.

But she left it alone, probably figuring he was asleep, and started to stroke the skin of his hand and his forearm. He could feel her fingers sliding through the hairs as she alternated between her fingertips and the underside of her fingers. It felt nice waking up next to someone whose first reaction was to just touch him. 

But then she moved away from him, letting the hand that was on her breast slide away, and she turned on a low bedside lamp. Then she laid back down and she turned to face him. Rory opened his eyes, and Emma’s smile that greeted him could have lit the morning. 

She was really close, close enough that with little effort she brought her hand up and started to touch his face, just tracing her fingers lightly against his skin. It felt wonderful. When she got to his lips Rory grasped her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly. 

“Good morning,” she replied. Then she leaned in close to nuzzle up against his chest under his chin, and Rory wrapped his arms around her. He noticed she kept their lower bodies apart but realized why—and nearly jumped out of his skin—when he felt her place her open palm against his hardness. 

He quickly reached down and removed her hand, though he did so gently. She didn't move but said, "Rory?" 

"No, Emma. We can't." He needed to soften that, he thought. "If you touched me, I don't know if I would be able to stop at touching. Do you understand?" 

Her arm relaxed where he held her hand and she nodded under his chin. But she still said, "I just want to do for you what you have done for me... twice." 

Rory laughed and kissed the top of her head. "Believe me, Emma, you have done more for me than you can imagine. I have memories to last me a lifetime." She sighed but he could feel her smile against his chest. 

"I wish we could stay like this forever," she said after a couple minutes. She had her hand up and was playing with the hair on his chest. "This is comfortable, and warm." Her sigh tickled his chest. 

"And you have no bra," he joked, and yelped when she pulled his chest hair, but she laughed and tilted her head up to him. 

More seriously now he said, "But we'd miss the northern lights tonight." He got up on one elbow so he was looking down at her face. She was so beautiful, with her dark brown hair spilled out on the pillow behind her, her shirt twisted around her body tightly. It accentuated her breasts and he could see the small buds of her nipples pushing through the fabric. Instead of focusing on that, which would drive him insane, he put a hand on the side of her face and leaned down to kiss her. 

Her arms came up to wrap around his neck and she pulled him down so they were chest to chest. He kissed her deeply and passionately, conveying all the emotion that had been pent up over the last few days until they were out of breath. 

He moved down on the bed, his feet hanging a good amount off the bottom, and laid his head on her chest. He could feel her soft breasts against his chin and could hear her fast heartbeat under his ear. She stroked his hair and his face, and rubbed his back. She was right—it felt so comfortable, so warm and loving to be held by a woman like this. To be held by Emma. Their parting really wasn't fair. 

He wasn't sure how long they laid like that but by the time his body told him he had to take a trip to the bathroom, her heart had slowed and she had kissed his hair more times than he could count. He slowly lifted himself off her and looked at her, and she returned his gaze with a smile that made his heart soar. 

"Would you like me to shave?" He asked, obviously catching her off guard. She chuckled and pushed him over onto his back, now leaning over him like he had done with her. He continued, "I also shave my head sometimes. I'll leave it up to you." But Emma leaned down and kissed him sweetly, softly, unlike their passionate kiss from earlier. Then she kissed his cheek, kissed a trail back to his ear and then down his neck. He was going to have to take a trip to the bathroom soon for a different reason if she didn't stop. 

But she brought her head back and looked at him—really looked at him, as though she were studying him to memorize his features. She softly, almost reverently, stroked the beard on his cheeks and his chin, his upper lip, and down both sides of his neck, smiling when she got to the mark she had left the night before. "You're perfect just the way you are, Rory." 

Then she backed off and with laughter in her voice said, "Except you snore." 

She ran out of the room as he threw a pillow at her. 

They hadn't planned on leaving for the hot springs until after lunch so they hung around the hotel room for a few hours after Emma made them breakfast. He had liked that she appeared to enjoy him shirtless so he just wore his sweatpants, and they cuddled on the couch while making small talk. Later when the sun came out they ate a small lunch and loaded her bags into the truck. She would not be returning to the hotel before needing to be at the airport in the morning. It was sad, though he could tell she was putting on a brave face as much as he was. 

They took one last selfie in the room, standing in the doorway with their backs to the room. 

"Lots of memories here," she mused as she put her phone back in her pocket. Rory just smiled at her and took her hand, leading her to the elevator. 

They reached the hot springs after an hour of what Rory would describe as torture. Emma had spent the hour tracing designs on his thigh, laughing as he groaned. But he loved seeing her happy, loved seeing her smile and the lightness in her eyes. She had been so deep and sad when he'd first met her. It was nice that he was beginning to see the true her. And, he hoped, maybe she would feel it to, and when she returned home she would remember who she was outside of her bad relationship. 

When he eventually pulled into the parking lot he also pulled her into his arms and kissed her, not hard but enough to let her know how she'd made him feel during the trip. When he pulled away her face was flushed and her lips were red, but she had a hunger in her eyes that matched his own. He quickly got out of the truck, letting the bitter coldness wash over his body to dampen his desire. It helped the physical reaction, but did nothing for the fire she had lit inside his heart. 

They approached the front desk and Rory was apparently unrecognized—for once—by the desk clerk. He had started to assume desk clerks were all fans of his show. 

He downgraded their room from a double to a single, and as he did so Emma slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. She gave his butt an inconspicuous squeeze, one that only Rory knew about, and he had to cough while talking to the clerk. He shot her a glance but she just smirked at him. What was he going to do with her? She was going to be the death of him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had squeezed his butt, but he had to admit he liked it. And he liked that Emma was playful. Lord knows life needed more people like her. 

There was a small gift shop beside the front desk and Emma left him to wander, though he knew she would find herself at the postcard rack so he waited next to the desk. To his surprise she had also picked up a geode with a small pewter bear inside it, which she said was for her mom, and a miniature bear trap that was labeled for mosquitoes, for her dad. She also had the obligatory stack of postcards, most of these with the northern lights on them. 

They found their room on the first floor of the hotel and Emma had to talk Rory out of going back and asking for an upgrade. It was small and quaint, but she reminded him that it was only for one night. That convinced him, as in his mind he was reminding himself that they would not only be spending only a little bit of time in the room but when they were here, she would be in his arms. 

To illustrate his point he dropped her bags, wrapped his arms around her and fell onto the bed, her laughter filling the room. They still had on their coats and gear but it didn't matter. He lay on his back and she scrambled up on top of him and laid down on his chest. He wrapped his arms about her and held her to him. "Are you excited about tonight?" He felt her body go still and amended, "To see the northern lights? The forecast on my phone says it should be a good show." 

"Yes, I am excited," though he could hear the smile in her voice. 

"Do you want to go check out the hot tubs?" At that she laughed. 

"You just want to see my bathing suit." 

Rory chuckled. "Well... yes." Emma lifted her face, smiling widely at him. 

"What if I don't want to swim tonight?" 

"Then I suppose you can just try it on for me." That made her laugh again and she crawled off of him and stood. 

They agreed to go sit in the hot tub for a while and then to have dinner in the resorts restaurant. Rory would keep an eye on the northern lights forecast so they would know when to go outside. 

Emma took her bag into the bathroom to change but much to Rory's chagrin she walked out once again fully clothed. She must have seen the look on his face because she reassured him, "I'm wearing the suit under my clothes." He was disappointed but knew the eventual prospect of finally seeing her would make it worth the wait. He quickly kissed her before going into the bathroom to change. 

Later he sat in the hot tub waiting for Emma. He was thinking about what a strange turn his life had taken. His chance meeting with Emma on a plane had afforded him the best week of his life. He wasn't looking forward to returning to Ireland for filming now. He'd spend a little while doing promo shots in character and then two whole months of filming the next season, and then perhaps two to four months of interviews. Group interviews, individual interviews, showings and premieres. It just didn't sound fun anymore. 

He could have just as easily sat next to a businessman who snored the whole flight. Or a mom with fussy baby. Or a grandma who wanted to tell him about all of her grandkids. 

But fate had put him next to Emma. He sighed and stretched out, putting his arms on the edge of the hot tub on either side of him. 

Emma. She was a wonder. So creative, so colorful. She was full of love and life and energy. 

He had perhaps half a hundred selfies of the two of them and he would never tire of looking at them. He was going to miss her, badly. 

He wondered if she would think of him when she had gone home. Probably, he admitted. But how long would it be until she met a man who saw what he, Rory, saw in her? How long until she was swept off her feet, married, with a herd of children running around? She was meant to be a mom, he was sure of it. And she would have loved Stephen, as Stephen probably would have loved her. 

The image of her holding a child came to mind and something tightened in Rory's chest. Regret? Hurt? His daydream backtracked to a wedding in a clearing in the forest, and Emma's beautiful face looking up at him as she promised to love him, cherish him, and honor him, until death do they part. 

And then further back, he could imagine himself on one knee, holding a ring box and suddenly feeling her arms around his neck, likely choking him as he wrapped her in his arms. 

Damn. He had to stop this. Stop torturing himself with What Ifs and What Couldn't Be's. 

He couldn't expect her to move away from her loving parents and live in Scotland, or actually jet-setting all over the world with his filming schedule. And he didn't see himself settling down in a home here in the states, not far from her parents. It was a case of one plus one not equalling two. 

Just as he resolved to stop thinking about it, a vision in red entered his line of sight. Emma was standing there, all pale skin with her dark hair braided, dressing in a halter top swimsuit that covered her up to her neck. His eyes drifted down past a taut stomach, to a modest swimsuit bottom that cut low on her legs but that made her look like a pinup model. The bright fire engine red of the solid color suit set off her skin tone making it look ivory compared to the suit, and with her dark braid hanging over one shoulder she looked simply stunning. 

"Rory, you're mouth is hanging open," she said with a soft smile, though she clasped her hands in front of her and appeared to be shy. He hadn't meant to make her self conscious so he rose out of the water and stood in front of her, dripping all over the floor. 

"You are so beautiful, Emma," he said, and he bent down to press his lips to hers. "I knew you would look good but... I had no idea." He was making her blush, which just made her more gorgeous. He took her hand and led her into the hot tub to sit beside him. 

Part of him felt awkward, even though he knew he shouldn't. But he had never thought of himself as the type of person worthy of the woman who called his name and hooted at him at events. He was 44, out of shape and balding. And now next to Emma, who was looking up at him with such adoration in her eyes that his heart hurt, he again felt like the luckiest man alive. 

 

 

Emma couldn't stop looking at Rory. He was so handsome, especially when he had no shirt on. She could play with his chest all day. And indeed she had been—taking every opportunity she could find to put her hands on it. She loved the feel of his warmth, the hardness of his muscles, the soft hair covering him. Before her plane ride she never would have guessed she'd ever be so incredibly attracted to a man like him. Her big man. 

No, she must not think of him as such. It would only get her heartbroken. Yes, perhaps he was hers during their stay in Alaska. But she was leaving in the morning and she would never see him again. 

She pushed the thoughts away and focused on his smile. Tonight was going to be magical. 

There were clear skies and the northern lights forecast was exceptional. Although the uncertainty of just when they were going to appear left a bit to be desired, Emma was excited that she was finally going to see them. She had waited for this forever, had been dreaming of seeing them since she was a little girl. And she couldn't think of anyone she would rather see them with than Rory. 

And the way he was looking at her now—like he wanted to devour her right then and there—caused a warmth to grow inside her chest. She needed to remember that just feet away was a large pool where a couple families were swimming and paying. 

The hot tubs were nice but later they had decided to spend some time outside in the rock pool. Filled with the hot springs' natural heated water, a pool surrounded by rocks had been built. And no kids were allowed, which to Emma meant that perhaps they could sneak in some kissing after it had turned dark. And she hoped the resort intended to keep the lights down—not just for privacy but to afford spectators a better opportunity to view the northern lights. 

They were talking quietly about how Rory had already seen the northern lights because they have them in Scotland, when they were joined in the hot tub by an older couple who looked past retirement age. "I'm Joe," said the man, reaching out to shake both their hands. "And this is my wife Margie." 

"Hello," said Margie, a short, slightly round little woman. Emma couldn't complain—they had barely spoken to other people since they had checked into their hotel last week. And even though this was their last day and night together and part of her wanted to tell them to leave, propriety and her conscience demanded she be polite. When she glanced over at Rory he smiled at her and winked, showing her he probably felt the same way she did. They introduced themselves. 

"Are you two from around here?" Joe was asking. He was a bit taller than Emma so even in the hot tub Rory towered over him. Joe was almost completely bald and what little hair he had left above his ears was white, though he seemed nice and wore a huge smile under a bushy white mustache. 

"No, I'm from Chicago," Emma replied. "And he's from--" 

"Just outside of Chicago," Rory interrupted her, with another more subtle wink. He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. 

"Ah, a transplant, eh?" Joe looked pleased. "America is a great country, right Margie?" He looked at his wife and she smiled pleasantly though didn't reply. 

"I do like it a lot," said Rory. "I've been here since my 20s but I go back to Scotland a lot to visit family." 

"So are you two married, then?" Margie didn't flinch at Joe's question. Apparently she was used to him being forward. Emma opened her mouth to reply but then Rory did it for her. 

"Just dating," he said, and if she had been drinking she would have shot it out her nose. As it was, she coughed and Rory thumped her on the back a couple times. "Are you okay, love?" He asked, grinning down at her. 

She looked back up at him, a playful smile on her face. "I'm fine, honey," she said. Rory chuckled. 

"And you?" He asked Joe. "Are you two from around here?" 

"Oh no, we're just visiting to see the northern lights. We're from Florida," Joe said. "We wouldn't be able to live here, not with this weather. No, we like Florida. All our grandkids are there." Emma detected genuine warmth on Margie's face at the mention of grandkids so she grabbed hold of the opportunity. 

Looking straight at Margie she asked, "Oh, how many do you have?" Margie took the bait and finally answered, smiling. 

"We have twenty-seven grandkids, and we're about to become great-grandparents! Our kids are all probably older than you two," she said with a smile. 

"And how many kids do you have?" Emma asked, genuinely curious now. Twenty-seven grandkids, good heavens. This was a family of producers. 

"We have five kids—Marjory, Joe Jr., Thelma, Andrew and Aaron. We wanted four but when we tried for the last one we ended up having twins." Joe laughed out loud at that, giving Margie a squeeze about the shoulders. 

"Oh, but the trying for them is what's fun, am I right?" He gave Rory a big wink and Rory smiled heartily down at Emma. Joe must have seen it because then he asked, "So have you guys talking about having kids? How many would you like to have?" 

Emma was about to answer that no, they hadn't talked about it, when Rory answered, "We want four as well." There was that cough again. What the hell was he doing?! She was trying to play along but he was saying the most outrageous things. 

"I think the lady disagrees with you," Joe said, laughing. At this point Margie was laughing as well, and Rory brought her hand out of the water to kiss the back. 

"What do you say, love? Isn't four a good number?" 

Emma looked back at him, the adoring girlfriend, and replied, "Honey, you know I've always wanted six kids—three boys that look just like you and three girls that look just like me." 

It was Rory's turn to cough, and Emma chuckled. 

From there the conversation turned to the weather and what each couple had done on their respective vacations. Rory and Emma didn't have to fib any of their adventures since they had indeed done all of them together. And Joe and Margie listed many things that Rory and Emma hadn't thought of doing, or that they hadn't known existed. 

"A whole gift shop dedicated to Santa?" Emma was asking. It had obviously been Margie's favorite part of the vacation. 

"Oh yes, and they have live reindeer, can you imagine? Everything inside is related to Santa, and they have a fudge bar and a coffee shop. It's just a wonderful place. Will you have a chance to see it?" Emma frowned. 

"No, in fact I'm flying out in the morning, have to return to Chicago." 

"Oh, that's too bad." Margie smiled over at Joe, who was saying something to Rory about some sports team or another. "This trip was on our bucket list but I'd like to come back in the summer, I hear they're beautiful. Perhaps you two could come back as well? Maybe on your honeymoon?" 

Emma blushed, hoping Rory wasn't listening. But his hand stilled on her shoulder as soon as Margie said that, even if for all appearances he looked as though he was carrying on a conversation with Joe. 

The ladies rejoined the men's conversation when it turned to climates in their respective hometowns but thankfully Margie and Joe were more interested in Scotland's weather than Chicago's. It left Emma alone to be quiet in her thoughts, once again silly daydreams of her and Rory, but now surrounded by a passel of kids. 

At one point during the conversation a football skittered across the surface of the hot tub, hitting Rory in the chest. Emma had almost laughed out loud at the look on the poor little boy's face as Rory lifted his six and a half feet out of the hot tub and walked over to where the boy had stood, stammering his apologies and promising it would never happen again. 

But Rory had crouched down to be more on the boys level and held the ball out to him, showing him where to put his fingers so he could have more control over the ball. Then he ruffled the boys hair and climbed back into the hot tub, looking confused at Emma's wide-eyed expression. 

It had just sucked. Totally sucked. Other than his talk of Stephen she hadn't ever seen him interact with a kid. This had been Rory completely calm, understanding, and then helpful to a kid who couldn't have been any older than 7 or 8. And he had looked adorable doing it, totally like a dad. 

It wasn't fair. 

But it WAS the hand life had dealt her, and she would play with the cards. She maintained polite conversation with Margie and Joe, attempting to keep her melancholy from taking over. 

Her and Rory had less than twenty-four hours left and she was determined they would be happy and that they would enjoy them. But it was hard, very hard, to keep up the pretense that leaving in the morning wasn't going to rip her heart to shreds. 

Rory made it easier to enjoy their time together a little later when Margie and Joe left after inviting them to have dinner together. Emma didn't have the heart to turn them down so despite Rory squeezing her leg under the water, she had accepted. He said he knew why she did it, but he smiled when he said he didn't like it. 

His smile melted away most of her sadness and he pulled her close—though not TOO close in the populated room—to kiss her. It was short and sweet, and she leaned her head against his chest when they parted. 

Before they were set to leave to change for dinner Rory asked her to stay in the hot tub for a minute while he went back into the men's locker room. He came out holding his phone and she laughed, though she sunk down into the water up to her chin. It only took a little bit of convincing with those sweet puppy dog eyes of his for her to sit up straight and let him take a couple photos of her. Then he climbed in with her, pulled her onto his lap where she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and he took a selfie of them. And when Emma told him to take one more and she pressed a closed-eye kiss to his cheek, Rory snapped a photo and thanked her. She knew it would be a sweet photo so she asked him to copy it to her phone. 

Then it was time to go and Rory took his time getting out of the hot tub. When Emma turned to see what he was doing she laughed. He was standing in the middle of the hot tub with his camera aimed at her, and he took several shots in a row. 

Giggling like a little girl she gingerly rushed into the women's locker room, hearing his phone's camera click away photos until she was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's not the best. But this WAS my first posted fanfic. It's funny how I think I've improved, even over the last couple of months, compared to this fic. I'll edit it as is and post, but please do check out my others! Hope For Scars is a Sansan fic, and I have a one-shot up called Downfall.
> 
> Thanks again for the Kudos and comments <3 Ao3 has proved to be a wonderfully encouraging community, and I'm so happy to have found a place here <3


	8. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hard to write this! But... it had to be done ;-)

Rory enjoyed dinner, despite the company. He even enjoyed talking with Joe and Margie, and was half amused and half saddened at the story he had woven for them in the hot tub. If only, he thought every time something came up that applied to his and Emma's "relationship." 

Emma had seemed off during dinner, even going so far as to ask Rory what she should order off the menu. She hadn't done anything like that the whole time they were together because she had been exercising her right to make her own decisions, something she hadn't been allowed to do much in the previous five years with Nitwit. She seemed to come to her senses when he had suggested sushi, as she had already told him she hated it. 

They both ended up ordering steak and salad though she chose the smaller cut of meat while he chose the larger. Joe had the same and Margie ordered a salmon salad. The food was generous and very well made, and their conversation was light and polite. 

But towards the end of the meal when things were winding down, Margie started yawning, saying that she still hadn't adjusted to the four hour time difference between Florida and Alaska. 

"We should be going back to our room," Joe was saying. Then he winked at Rory and smiled at Emma. "We should leave these two lovebirds and let them have some alone time, don't you think, honey?" 

Margie had agreed with a yawn, and told them that if they didn't see each other again, to have a good trip. Rory was glad to see them go. He immediately turned to Emma, who suddenly seemed not hungry. He could see it in her eyes—goodbye was getting closer. 

"Would you like to go back to our room and lay down for a bit before tonight? We may have a late night with the northern lights," he suggested. Emma nodded, smiling softly at him. 

On the walk back to the hotel room she was quiet, too quiet, and she held onto his hand but nothing more. Rory was sad that their time was coming to an end, but he wished there was something he could do to make Emma feel better. There wasn't, of course, but he could wish it all the same. 

He took her coat from her once they were in the room and they both laid down on the bed. Rory supposed he should have expected the tears, but they still surprised him. Emma cried quietly into his shirt and he rubbed her back, not saying anything, not making any noise. He just wanted to be there for her and comfort her. It wasn't long before he realized she had fallen asleep, his shirt clenched in her fist. 

He took his phone out of his pocket and quietly opened the northern lights forecast. It was predicted that at about 9pm they would become a pretty nice show, so he set an alarm and put his phone down beside him on the bed and closed his eyes. 

He awoke to the alarm to find Emma gone, but found her sitting on the end of the bed, staring off into space. When he moved to get up she climbed back onto the bed and started to lay down with her back to him. Gathering the pillow under their heads, Rory cradled her to his chest, curling his legs into the backs of hers. 

She felt so good there, so small and delicate. But he knew her to be stronger than she thought she was. She wasn't as delicate as she was letting on right now, and that gave him peace of mind. He pushed his face into her loose hair and breathed in her scent, inhaling deeply and sighing heavily into her neck. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, though he wasn't sure if he should. He didn't want to trigger any crying, didn't want to be the source of her pain, even though in a way he knew he already was. 

"I am," she assured him. "I'm better now." 

"Oh? Better?" Emma nodded. 

"I just had some thinking to do, that's all. I needed some time to sort through my thoughts. I've done that, and I feel better." Rory sighed with relief. She even sounded better than she had before they'd fallen asleep. 

"How long have you been up?" He asked. Emma shrugged. 

"I don't know, twenty minutes maybe." Rory smiled into her hair. 

"It took twenty minutes to sort through your thoughts?" 

"No," she chuckled. "Part of that was spent watching you sleep." Rory leaned back and rolled her towards him so he could see her face. 

"Do you like watching me sleep?" He asked quietly. She nodded, though now there were no tears when she admitted something so sweet. Her hand came up to rub the side of his face, and he knew she was touching the beard that was growing, just feeling him because she knew she wouldn't have any more chances after tomorrow morning. 

Then she said, "You snore," but she smiled. "You sound like a bear." 

Rory laughed out loud and laid down on the bed so that his head was on her chest, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him. 

"You," he said matter-of-factly, "Sound like a cat snoring." 

"What?!" She almost shouted, though he knew it was mock outrage. They needed to have fun, and one way of doing that was to tease her. 

"Or maybe a mouse snoring," he said, smiling. She laughed and threw her leg over his waist.   
"Excuse me?" She said, but she was laughing too hard to sound offended. 

"But I like it," he assured her, and he tucked a hand under her waist and pulled her close to him. He could hear her laugh in her chest and it felt good, felt good to just smile and laugh again. 

"Are you ready to go to the rock pool now?" He felt her nod, even as her hand stroked his hair. She didn't make to get up, though. His hand slid down over her hip and down her thigh before returning to her waist. "That means we have to move," he chuckled. 

"Rory, you have photos of me in my swimsuit. You know you owe me photos of you, right?" His head shot up to see if she was joking, but her smile said she was serious. He laughed and dropped his head to her chest again. 

"Woman, you're going to be the death of me." But he got up to change into his swim trunks. 

Emma was ready with her phone's camera when Rory walked out of the men's locker room in the pool building. He had taken the obligatory shower so was already wet, and he felt the water running off him in rivulets. The way Emma looked at him told him she'd rather be running her hands over him than taking photos of him. There was a hunger in her eyes that he knew was matched in his. She was stunning in that swimsuit. The red reminded him of his scarf, the one she wore so often. 

An image of her wearing the swimsuit and those strappy black heels flashed in his mind and he almost told her they needed to go back to the room because he was going to embarrass himself. But luckily she turned then and, with a hand on the door to the outdoor patio between the pool building and the rock pool, she looked back at him over her shoulder and gave him such a seductive look that he followed her like a moth to a flame. 

As he had seen other people do when leaving the pool building, they hugged themselves as they scooted over to the ramp leading into the rock pool. The temperature of the pool might have been like a steaming hot shower, but their air outside was below zero. As soon as they waded into the pool, though, the steam leaving the surface warmed the air and they were once again comfortable. 

There were several people in the pool, some couples and a few groups of people, but as Rory and Emma wandered, sometimes wading, sometimes floating, and as they talked about anything that came to mind, it began to wind down. People left, and soon it was a smattering of people and just them. They stood to the side of a large fountain in the middle of the pool, leaning against the wall where Emma had found a small alcove where she could stash her phone after taking a photo of them. 

Rory checked his watch, which said it was just past 9:30pm. They had been so wrapped up in talking to each other that he hadn't thought to look up at the sky. He did so now, and quickly but subtly reached behind her for her phone. "What are you doing?" She asked, looking at her phone. He shushed her, earning him a raised eyebrow from her, but she watched as he brought up the camera. Then he stood back and aimed it at her, and pressed the Record button. 

"Look up, Emma," he said softly, and was rewarded when she looked up and gasped. He knew what she was looking at—a large, wide, bright green band of northern lights was directly above them, stretching from one side of the sky to the other. It was moving—dancing, he'd seen it called—and he had seen similar displays in Scotland. 

"Oh, Rory," she breathed, her hands clasped at her chest. Her mouth was open in wonder, and her head was thrown back. 

"Do you like it?" He asked, though he knew the answer. He wanted to record this moment so she would have it forever. And before he realized what he was doing, he was saying quietly for the camera, "You're so beautiful, Emma." 

But she didn't hear him. She had moved away from him, wading this way and that, turning in circles as she followed the lights with her eyes. She really was beautiful, with her braid wet and dripping, that amazing red swimsuit hugging her body, her face full of such wonder. 

As she moved he followed her, and when she blindly reached out to him he grasped her hand, turned the phone off and placed it on the edge of the pool. She pulled him towards her, still looking up, and asked, "Isn't it beautiful, Rory? It's more amazing than I ever could have imagined, Oh, look!" 

And he did look up then, just as a corona flew over them overhead, the brilliant display of purples and greens spiking directly on top of them and dancing so fast that even Rory had to admit he didn't know where to move his eyes. When he looked to one side he missed a dazzling display on the other. Emma was alternately gasping and laughing, and she now stood with her arms around his waist as they both looked up at the sky. 

"It's magnificent, Rory!" He had to drag his eyes away at the display when she said that. The emotion in her voice hadn't sounded entirely happy, and when he looked at her face there were indeed tears in her eyes. "I never would have thought it would be like this," she said almost in a whisper. He wanted to make the evening even more spectacular for her, so he reached into the water and scooped her up into his arms. Momentarily stunned, she wrapped her arms around his neck before realizing what he was doing. 

Rory let her drift on her back with his arms supporting her. There would be no watching the lights now, he thought. Though tears were coming down the sides of her face, she was smiling. 

And laughing, as she said, "Rory, I feel so silly." 

"Don't," he said, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. "Just enjoy this, Emma." Her eyes darted to his and then back to the sky. 

They stayed there for several minutes, until the lights started to wan and Emma stood back up.   
"Holy cow, Rory," she said, back in his arms now. She was obviously at a loss for words, he thought, amused. 

"I felt the same the first time I saw a display like that." He had to admit, this one was one of the best he'd ever seen. "This might have been a once-in-a-lifetime event for you. If you want, we can stay in the pool for a while longer. There's a good chance they will come back." 

The way Emma looked at him just then, such pleased surprise, meant that for now, he didn't mind spending his time with her in the pool rather than the hotel room. 

They talked and watched the lights some more as faint green bands danced across the sky. They seemed to ripple and wave, gliding in lines like military troops across the sky, though their ranks were ever changing. He especially liked leaning back against the edge of the rock pool, perched on an outcropping of rock under the water, with Emma sitting on his lap. She held him around his neck, talking with their heads close or leaning against each other as the lights flitted and sputtered above them. 

He told her about the lights in Scotland that he had seen, about how he had grown up with them and so he didn't really pay much attention to them. She had looked at him aghast then, nearly demanding why a man who seemed to love nature could treat this type of phenomena with such a blasé attitude. At that he had laughed and told her Scotland had so many beautiful sights, it was hard to pick a favorite. 

It was nearing 11:00pm when the lights came back with a vengeance. If Emma had thought the show before had been life-changing, this one had the power to stop time. The corona appeared to them in nearly all pinks and reds, dancing above them as if putting a show on specifically for them. 

Inside the circle of Rory's arms Emma turned circles, sometimes using him for leverage while turning and sometimes seeming to hold onto him as though if she didn't, she would collapse. 

He couldn't get enough of her. The water was warm around them, the steam made for almost an ethereal evening, and she was the angel dressed in red, in his arms where she needed to be at that moment. 

And when the lights began to fade and she looked at him, he found he was indeed correct. Time did stop, and when he lowered his mouth to Emma's he discovered there a change that had happened when he wasn't looking. She had come alive, and it was as though a switch somewhere had been flipped, and she was his dream come true. 

 

It started when Emma woke from her nap, still draped over Rory's chest but with dried tears on her cheeks. It had been one of the saddest moments of her life. She didn't think she had cried as much even on the day of her so-called wedding. But then, she really didn't remember much of that day, nor did she care to. It was a lifetime ago, a lifetime of seven days with the man whose breathing she now counted like a slow metronome. 

He was warm. She always marveled at that, being one of her observations. He was a warm body, someone who held her in his long arms—hers for now. She would never forget how it felt, how safe and protected, cared for. Loved. 

There it was. The word she had been avoiding for days. How ridiculous was it, she thought now, that she had fallen in love with him in a matter of days. It was crazy. Insane. Impossible. 

And yet it had happened. She felt love for him fill her over the last few days, filling her as though from a large pitcher, filling her from her toes to her waist, covering her heart until finally it had taken over her mind—the last holdout. 

She was even sure that he felt similar for her, though if he would have ever admitted it to himself, she didn't know. Nor did she need to know, truth be told. What good would it have done? 

She sat up slowly so not to disturb him and slid to the end of the bed. 

So what was she going to do about it? This new development? Was she going to do anything at all? 

She was all questions and none of them could be answered. She was certain she wanted something and then two seconds later she wanted something else. There it was again—the war between her heart and her mind. 

Her mind told her to get through tonight. Just get through tonight, say goodbye in the morning, cry it off on the flight home and arrive hopeful for the future. Love her family, reopen her business, and move on. 

Her heart cried out at the thought. Love him, it seemed to scream at her. You have twelve hours! Twelve hours to live out everything you ever wanted in your life from a man who cares about you! 

What had decided it for her was looking back at him to see him reaching for her on the bed. He was going to go to her, to comfort her because he knew she was upset. He hadn't been disgusted that she'd been emotional, or impatient with her for feeling sad. He had been there for her without her asking him to, so she'd gone to him and laid with him. 

She was going to love him tonight, even if she had decided not to say the word. She was going to show him what this past week had meant to her, and how he had affected her in such a great way. He had given her a new perspective on life—that she deserved to be happy. 

So now, after seeing the mind-blowing display of northern lights, and her senses being on high alert, her nerves ultra-sensitive with the awareness of Rory's presence, she stepped over the precipice and allowed all of her pent-up desire to take over. 

Rory lowered his head to hers and kissed her softly but that was not what she wanted in that moment. She wanted heat and fire, passion and lust. She wrapped her arms around his neck in the warm water, and when they locked behind his head he stood, lifting her with him. 

With their mouths still locked together she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him with such fervency that he almost stumbled in the water. She wanted to show him that when they got back to the hotel room they were not going to snuggle. She was in fact taking control, and that if he was willing, she was going to love him the way she knew he would love her in return. 

Rory had hesitated at first, she suspected because he wasn't sure where she wanted to take their sudden joining. But his arms then tightened around her and she felt him give in to the same desires she was overwhelmed with. One hand went to her bottom and the other held her around her upper back as he kissed her with a passion rivalling her own. 

"Emma," he growled against her lips as he found a fairly smooth area of wall to push her up against. She barely felt the texture of the rock at her back—she was filled with need for the hardness at her font. 

"I need you, Rory," she said breathily as his lips slid over to her cheek and down to her neck. God, it felt so good to feel him suck at and kiss her there, where her skin was soft and sensitive. He thrust his hips against her, ground himself into the apex of her thighs, she knew, because twice she had found release that way. But when she cried out, suddenly Rory stopped, though he was breathing heavily and his chest was heaving. 

"Emma, Emma," he said against her hair, kissing her temple and nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. "We can't do this here," he ground out, pressing himself to her again. "There are people." He sounded angry and Emma knew it to be frustration at the required interruption. 

She loved that sensation of friction and didn't want it to stop any more than he did. But she knew there were a few stragglers in the pool who probably didn't want the kind of show they had been about to give them. As amused at the situation as she was frustrated, she chuckled, though she leaned in to kiss his neck and bite at his skin. "Then take me to bed," she whispered into his ear, running her tongue up the edge and letting him feel the warmth of her breath. 

His growl was enough. She dropped her legs and grasped his hand, leading him back to the entrance of the pool. She avoided eye contact with the other pool-goers simply because she only had eyes for him. She would glance back with a hunger in her eyes that she didn't bother to hide. 

When they walked up the ramp towards the pool door and into the freezing air he pulled her aside into the darkness and hauled her against him, her feet leaving the ground. She whimpered but couldn't find it in herself to care about the temperature of the air. His tongue was in her mouth, tangling with hers, and his arms were wrapped around her, holding her body hostage. Her hands were grabbing at his short hair and pulling his mouth closer, his kiss deeper, being as demanding with her attentions as he was. 

But he abruptly broke the kiss, cursed, and dropped her to her feet. For the second time he had to be the one to take control and stop them. She was aware that her tremulous grip on her control had slipped. She was addicted, she couldn’t get enough, and she knew she was powerless to stop it. 

“Emma, damn, you’re going to kill me.” He took her by the hand and led her inside. Emma felt that his grip was the only thing holding her to earth, that if he let go she would float away. 

“We have to go into the locker rooms,” Rory was saying. It was enough to partially bring her out of the haze of desire. She could only nod before he kissed her quickly and they parted ways. 

Emma had never showered so fast in her entire life. She threw on her clean clothes and almost jogged out to the lobby, only to find Rory waiting already, his hair still wet. There was nothing left to do but to walk back to their hotel room. 

But Rory paused and looked like he wanted to say something. Emma silenced him by pulling the front of his jacket down so she could kiss him. “Don’t,” she said against his lips. “Just don’t.”   
If her words didn’t convince him, whatever he saw in her eyes did because after a couple moments of staring into them he gave a quick nod. It was as though she had helped him come to the same conclusion she had 

They walked hand in hand back to the hotel room, where they both calmly hung their coats on the hooks by the door. Emma came up behind him and put her hands under his shirt, spreading her fingers wide and stroking him all the way to the tops of his shoulders, bringing the shirt with her as she went. He reached back and grabbed the fabric, pulling it off him in one quick motion.

Emma did the same as he turned, and Rory groaned as she revealed a white lace bra that left nothing to the imagination. The switch now visibly tripped inside him and he hauled her against him for a bruising kiss. “Emma,” he growled as his lips moved against her neck. “You’re so damn beautiful.” 

She knew he had felt her breasts before, in the truck the night they’d been caught making out like teenagers but an officer. But now as he led her backwards towards the bed and unhooked her bra, she knew she’d feel his mouth on them for them first time and the thought made her ache between her legs. 

Suddenly he turned and sank down on the edge of the bed but he brought her with him, pulling her legs up so she was straddling him, kneeling on either side of his hips. The height was perfect for him to take one pert nipple into his mouth and between his teeth. Emma cried out as he sucked hard and grabbed onto Rory's hair with both hands. He licked at her breast before grasping it in his hand and moving onto the next. Emma looked down at him and nearly cried out from the aching love she felt for Rory, but her head fell back with the torrent of feelings he was causing her to feel. As he worked his mouth over the one breast he would tease her nipple on the other with his fingertips, and then would switch, back and forth until she ground out, “Rory.” 

She needed more. 

He understood and pushed her off him so she was standing in front of him, unselfconscious of her nakedness. The hunger she saw in Rory's eyes as they raked over her body destroyed any qualms she had. 

She grasped the waistband of her leggings and pulled them down and off. Her panties matched her bra, though they had a bit more fabric to them. She knew what would fan his flame so she turned slowly, showing him the panties were cut just high enough in the back to show the underside of her cheeks. 

Rory, ever the strong caveman type, reached out and dropped her on the bed but she didn’t mind—he pulled off his jeans revealing those incredibly sexy boxer briefs and sunk down onto the bed beside her. He kissed her deeply and left a trail of red marks from his facial hair as he paid a bit of attention to her breasts. But that was not his end goal. 

He kissed her stomach, toyed with the edge of her panties, and then crawled between her legs and pushed them wide. She began to feel the beginnings of an orgasm when he placed an open mouth kiss on her center, through the fabric. 

Emma whimpered and Rory looked up at her, a seductive grin on his face. While looking at her he licked across her sensitive nub under the fabric and she grabbed a handful of sheets in her fists to stop from coming off the bed. Then she felt Rory's fingers under the waistband of her panties and he was dragging them down her legs, revealing to him the last shred of her body he had yet to explore. 

He drove her wild, licking and sucking the secrets she kept there, sometimes keeping one big, wide hand sprawled on her stomach to keep her down. She thought him grinding on her and giving her an orgasm was hot—this was no comparison. Rory’s beard raked at her sensitive skin, his tongue worked expertly at her nub and before she knew it she was seeing sparks of lights behind her eyes and feeling waves of desire broil through her like a turbulent surf. 

And then Rory was taking off his boxers to lay beside her and she could smell herself on him. But the smile on his face—full of desire and love for her—flamed her own desire and she pulled at him, needing to kiss him and to feel that connection. They kissed like they had in the pool—furiously and passionately. Rory was as turned on as she was, probably more so now that she had arrived but he had not yet. 

So when she grasped his shoulders and pulled her between her legs, feeling his hardness at her entrance, she said his name, “Rory,” and bucked her hips, sliding him a tiny bit inside. 

Rory groaned, raising his lips to her temple. “I can’t wait, Emma,” he ground out, his accent thick and his voice sounding so incredibly full of desire. 

“Then don’t,” she implored him, grasping his head and pulling him down for a kiss. She licked at his mouth and pulled his lower lip into hers as she pulled him further into her with her heels at the back of his thighs. He groaned into her mouth and pushed his face again into her hair as he pushed himself into her. 

Emma gasped, feeling him inside her, stretching her. The weight of him on top of her was almost overwhelming. He was such a big man, in more ways than one. She wrapped her arms around his chest and bit at his shoulder, nipping his skin with her teeth. He growled in that deep voice of his, and she smiled. 

Then as he pulled out and thrust again, further in this time, she cried out with the sensation of being full of him, loving him and loving the feel of him inside her. “Yes, Rory,” and whimpered. 

His movements got faster as they became one. His arm bracketing her upper body were strong, the muscles straining against his skin and she ran her hands over his shoulders. Their bodies moved in unison with his movements and Emma could feel once again the tension building deep within her belly. 

“I can’t wait, Emma,” he said again into her ear. 

But she was close, so close, and when he kissed her hard and said, “Come for me,” she obeyed. 

 

Rory was drunk. Or at least he felt that way. He hadn’t been able to comprehend really that he was inside her, couldn’t believe despite feeling her that she was naked, willing, enthusiastically underneath him. His heart was ready to burst with love for her. 

He breathed in her scent, felt her skin go wet with a sheen of sweat, could feel her breasts rub against his chest. She had her legs wrapped around him, drawing him into her deeper and deeper, and he was in Heaven. 

Then he told her to come and her eyes had drifted close as release overcame her as though on command, and the look of pure ecstasy on her face drove him over the edge. He came deep inside her with a couple more thrusts and held himself above her with his arms. 

When their breathing had slowed and she was tracing lazy circles on the sensitive skin of his side’s, her legs now draped over his on the bed, he raised his face to look at her. She had the sweetest, most satisfied smile on her face. “Thank you, Rory,” she whispered, drawing her finger down his temple, now wet with a sheen of sweat. “I kind of made you do that, didn’t I?” 

She was still smiling but Rory chuckled. She did in fact become a siren after the northern lights. If he had been a stronger man he might have resisted, but… 

Ah, who was he kidding. He would do anything for her, and if this was what she had wanted, especially this, he’d do for her. 

“You did not force me, Emma,” he assured her, slowly rubbing his nose on hers and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You are magnificent.” 

At that she blushed—actually blushed, even after what they had just done. 

Then he felt her tighten her muscles around him, still inside her, and he laughed. “I propose a shower, madam,” he said, sliding out of her. She had the most adorable frown on her face at his absence. “I’m not going to sleep much tonight, am I?” Emma grinned at that and climbed off the bed, but she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him. 

She didn't seem self-conscious at all and Rory liked it, was incredibly attracted to it, in fact. To her, really. She was amazing. He wrapped his arms around her but refused to give into the sadness creeping in at the edges of their evening. 

He took her by the hand and led her into the bathroom. 

They took a long shower, exploring each other's bodies and memorizing every facet. Rory was actually happy that Emma laughed so much about what he looked like in a shower. To wash his hair he had to bend over and let the water from the shower head hit the back of his head. And as he did so, Emma soaped his back and his butt, running her hands all over him. She was acting like she couldn't get enough. 

When he was clean she turned him around and did the same to his front, washing everything between his shoulders and his knees, much to his delight. She seemed to keep a hand on him at all times, as though if she let go he would disappear. 

When it was her turn to wash he gave her body the same attention, though he kept her facing him with her back to the water, lathering up her hair with shampoo and combing it out with his fingers. She watched him all the while, a small smile on her lips. And he used his hands to soap her body, paying extra attention to her breasts and between her thighs, but enjoying the way her skin felt under his hands. He loved the curve of her waist, the flare of her generous hips, and dip in the small of her back. 

He knew she would have had him if he had wanted to take her in the shower, but he wanted to prolong the night so he suggested a snack instead. With her dressed in his shirt and him in his sweatpants, they each ate a granola bar and some fruit that she had packed for their overnight trip. 

As they ate they watched each other, Emma occasionally blushing and Rory sending her surreptitious glances, eyeing her face, her body, remembering how she had felt. Emma saw the tent in his sweatpants and set her fruit aside deliberately before she told him to lay back on the bed. 

A woman in control wasn't something Rory was used to. With the few women he had been intimate with, they had all seemed to prefer using his size as an extension of his manliness, allowing him to take control and to be the advancer. Emma, however, was looking at him like a lion looks at its prey. She told him to lift his hips and swept the sweatpants off him. 

He tried not to be embarrassed, but she made it easier by crawling up to his face and showering him with soft kisses on his forehead, eyes, mouth. At the same time her hand crept down his stomach and gripped his hardness, sliding from the tip to the base and back again. He thought he had been turned on before, but this was taking it to a new level. He didn't think he had ever been that hard in his life. 

Her lips moved over to his ear and then down to his neck, and he remembered the spot she had left there. When he had looked into the mirror it was red though not very noticeable. But now she latched back onto the same spot and the sensation paired with her hand on his member made him buck into her hand. He was quickly reaching the point where he would need release or he would be in a world of hurt. 

Emma seemed to sense this, and her kisses trailed down his chest where she laved at his nipples. He loved her doing that, but she quickly left and continued down the trail of hair that led past his belly button, until she was straddling one of this thighs and taking the tip of him into her mouth. 

"Emma! Emma, you don't have to do that," he said, looking down at her with one hand behind his head. The other was on her hand as it rested on him, so she gently put it on the bed and returned to her position. 

"I want to, Rory," she said, and she started to move. She hadn't been doing it for very long when he felt the start of his release. She sensed it too and grasped him at his base, working her mouth and tongue over the tip until he came, hard and fast, faster than he had wanted to. 

She smiled at him, though she took a minute in the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she came back out she laid down next to him as if she wanted to cuddle but he told her it was his turn. She was beautiful, sitting there on the bed as he lifted his shirt off her. Absolutely perfect. The color of her skin, the size and shape of her breasts, it was as though she were made for him. 

He laid her down gently and started to kiss her, and she sighed against his cheek. He felt the emotion in her, the satisfaction, and was sure that she felt for him what he felt for her. It would go unsaid, he knew, but it warmed him that she was showing him how much he meant to her. 

He trailed kisses along her neck and collarbone, over her shoulder and down her chest. He suckled and teased her nipples while one hand went between her legs. "Rory," she breathed as he put first one and then two fingers inside her, stretching her the way he knew his cock would later. She was so wet for him, and he reveled in the fact that he was eliciting such a response from her. Her nipples pebbled in his mouth when he used his teeth on them, and as she got close to her climax she slid her hands over his head, his shoulders, his neck, until she nearly dragged him by the ear back up to her face. A strangled cry tore from her mouth as he kissed her and she came, climaxing hard and clenching around his fingers over and over until it subsided. 

It was his turn to get cleaned up and when he was done he pulled the covers over both of them, naked finally and under the same blanket, and they fell asleep in each other's arms. 

She woke him in the middle of the night by climbing on top of him, rocking against him in the way he knew would make her climax. But instead he guided her onto him and she rode him, his hands on her hips helping to guide her as she ran her hands up and down her chest, over her own nipples before dropping to kiss him heavily. She swept her tongue inside his mouth and let their tongues tangle before he gripped her around the back and flipped them both, driving into her until she was crying out his name and scratching at his back for the intensity of her climax. It was too much for Rory to stand and he climaxed as well, driving into her until the last of his seed had been milked from his body. 

Rolling with her, she sprawled on top of him and, still connected, they fell into a deep sleep together. 

It was the lovemaking in the morning before they had to leave that brought all the emotion to the forefront. Rory was in no hurry and neither was Emma. He had woken her by teasing at her nipples with his fingers, and then rolled her onto her back to kiss and touch and stroke her body all over, memorizing every dip and crevice, every texture and feel. He kissed down her legs and found that she was especially sensitive on the inside of her thighs, so he paid more attention to that area. 

On his way back up she spread her legs for him and took him into her in one long, deep, slow thrust, until he was completely buried in her and his upper body was pushing her into the mattress. Rory had never known no better feeling than that, knew of no other woman he wanted. Nor would he ever, he decided. He felt as though Emma had ruined him for all others, and he found that he didn't quite mind that fact. He lived alone and he liked it that way, but now he could live alone with his memories of her and this perfect week. 

His movements were slow and deliberate, a long pulling out and a slow thrust in. She whimpered and stroked his back, willing him to go faster but he refused. He wanted to draw it out and savor it, because this would be their last joining. For once he refused to let her take control, and though he knew he was also making it a thousand times more emotional, a thousand times harder to say goodbye, he poured out all his love for her in those minutes. 

As he started to feel his release building he went faster, reaching between them a couple times to tease her sensitive nub and to help her along. She started breathing hard, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts until they started to reach their crescendo together, and when she cried out his name it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He spilled himself inside her, willing fate to brand her so that she would never forget him. 

When their breathing had calmed he found her beneath him crying, tears running down her temples. He slid off her and rolled to his side, cradling her to his chest as she cried. She cried hard but silently, and he knew the ache she felt because it was the same one that was inside him. They were both breaking in half, and he was sure neither of them knew if they would ever be put back together. 

She calmed enough to take a quick shower and then afterwards he did the same. They got dressed quietly, neither having much to say. When she wasn't looking he took the t-shirt she had been wearing and stuffed it in the bottom of her bag. He wasn't even sure why he did it, or if she would welcome it. But he felt it was right. 

Breakfast was quick, a small affair at the restaurant before they got on the road. Emma was quiet but hadn't left his side, and now she sat beside him on the bench seat of the truck, his arm wrapped around her as she occasionally wiped away a tear. 

They drove straight to the airport. Her plane left at eleven but she had to be checked in at the airport by nine. When he asked if she wanted him to wait with her she shook her head and he knew it was because that would have been torture in itself. So instead he took her luggage out of the truck and walked her into the entryway of the airport. 

Then they were standing there, two strangers who had spent a mind-blowing week together and who now didn't want to say goodbye. It was so hard for Rory to not beg her to stay with him, to come with him to Scotland, to follow him to the ends of the earth. He wanted to beg her, to get on his knees and clasp his hands in supplication and tell her he couldn't live without her.   
He was sure he saw the same thoughts on her own face. 

"Goodbye, Rory," she said through a hiccup. He could hear all the things she was leaving unsaid—I'll miss you. I'll call. I love you. Please come with me. Buy a plane ticket now. I love you. Don't let me go. 

"Goodbye, Emma." Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she gave him one last hug. He didn't want to leave like that, a chaste hug where he couldn't even see her face. So he backed them up to a bench and sat on the edge, drawing her close to him between his legs. He had to look up a bit at her to see her face, but at least this way she couldn't hide behind her hair. 

All the things he wanted to say to her were on the tip of his tongue—Stay with me. You can paint anywhere. I love you. I need you. I'll miss you. I love you. Don't go. 

But instead he rested his head against her chest, his forehead pressing against her neck, and he felt her arms come up to hug him fiercely. Then a kiss on top of his head and she was gone, walking away with a duffel over one shoulder and her other arm pulling her painted suitcase on wheels. 

It wasn't until much later that he realized his red scarf was missing, and that she had been wearing it when he'd dropped her off.


	9. Surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, the updates are coming fast. But it's because I have SO MANY projects either in the works or on my list of Fics To Write, and now that my kiddos are in school I actually have TIME to write!
> 
> So I hope y'all enjoy! <3

A month later Emma stood at the sink in her parent's kitchen in a quaint suburb just on the edges of Chicago. It was a chilly day, and a brisk wind was picking up outside. Temperatures were dropping and Emma wondered if they were going to have another early snow this year. 

Life had gotten back to a new normal since she returned home. Her parents had retrieved her belongings while she'd been in Alaska and had set up her old room. They had agreed she could stay there until she got back on her feet. In a month she had already lined up several birthday parties, had made an agreement with a local party store to team up for birthday referrals, and was working on a new Instagram page and Facebook page, with a new business name. Whimsical Faces was slowly garnering followers and life was progressing. 

Her previous weeks would have been better if she hadn't felt so empty inside, but keeping busy helped. Her parents gave her space and didn't force her to socialize. Her dad tried joking with her every once in awhile but she mainly stayed quiet. It was probably concerning them, since her once rainbow personality was now dull neutral tones, but it was going to get better. It had to be. She was convinced. 

As she stood there washing the Sunday morning breakfast dishes she thought about how her period was two weeks late, and still couldn't bring herself to be upset. She was... resigned. Resigned but happy. She never thought she'd be a parent at 31, almost 32 now. She had wasted so much time with Keith, but because of those 5 years she now had a tangible reminder of the amazing week that had followed all those years. 

She was going to be a mom, and she was going to have Rory's baby. 

Although she had thought of little else other than the baby for days, there hadn't been a lot of time for her to sit down and think on the implications of a pregnancy, just these random times when she was doing a calm chore and had the room to herself. 

Would she try to contact him? No. It had occurred to her, but she didn't feel that she needed to. He would never know, and he'd be free to move on with his life, perhaps find a wife, have children of his own. She was so small-town, so humble in her origins. And he was meant for grander things. She didn't think he would think she was a gold digger, and she was certain he would know the baby was his. But why pursue that when he had his life and she had hers. 

Her baby was constantly on her mind. She wondered if he—or she—would have Rory's eyes, Rory's hair, his height, his sense of humor, his kindness. Or would it have Emma's hair, eyes, artistic abilities, free spirit nature. She did not allow herself to think about missing Rory, though. 

A day after coming home she'd discovered his t-shirt. She knew he had put it in there, and she'd used it as a nightgown and cried herself to sleep for a couple days while holding onto the scarf. His red scarf. 

She figured her parents would think it was Keith she was crying over, and she let them. It was a simpler explanation. 

After finishing the dishes she dried off her hands and hung the towel on the oven door. Then she stood, one hand on the counter and one hand on her stomach. Looking down, she imagined what she would look like 6 months, 7 months, even 9 months pregnant. 

"Are you going to tell Keith?" Her mom said from the doorway. She stood there, all 5 feet of her, with her arms crossed but nothing but love on her face. 

Emma smiled, happy about and certain about one thing. "It's not Keith's, mom." With barely a raising of her eyebrows her mom came over and put her hand on top of Emma's on Emma's stomach. 

"I hope he was worth it," her mom said. And it broke the dam of tears she had been holding back.

~~•~~

Rory didn't know what he was doing. It was a blustery day with temperatures hovering around sixty degrees but a chill in the air. It was supposed to be spring, not the advent of winter, he thought. He pulled the collar of his wool coat up on his neck, protecting it from the chilling wind. At least the ground wasn't very wet, he thought. He didn't think his shoes could take it.

1027 Montgomery Road hadn't been hard to find. It was Emma's last known address according to the internet, and the internet never lied, right? It was a small house, light green with white trim and a white wraparound porch. A small, newer hatchback wagon was parked in the drive but with it being the middle of the day he couldn't see any lights on inside. He hoped someone was home. 

He walked up the stairs, looking around at the other houses in the neighborhood. They were all in color combinations of various pastels with white trim, and though they were all different in their shape he thought the effect was rather charming. He would have preferred not being able to see his neighbor's houses, but he was just lucky he wasn't the one who lived here. 

But what if Emma wanted to live here? Or in a place like this? 

The thought brought him up short for a moment, but then he smiled grimly. He would do anything for Emma, and if she wanted to live in an apartment building in downtown New York City, then by God he would do it. If she would have him.

The thought had occurred to him that perhaps she had found someone else already. He didn't give much credence to the idea though, as their parting had been so mutually heartbreaking he couldn't see her falling in love with someone else that fast. Six months wasn't long enough, in his opinion, to forget someone. He remembered everything about Emma, from her smell to how it felt to be inside her, the sound of her laugh, the color of her skin, how she liked her coffee. He had thought of little else over the past six months. In fact, his coworkers had told him not to come back for the next season of the show until he'd taken the stick out of his arse--their words. They had informed him that while he'd been on vacation he had in fact turned into his menacing character. 

He had eventually came to the same conclusion. He needed to do something about it. He was miserable. Their selfies hadn't been enough. He looked at them every day, even shed tears a few times over them though he wouldn't admit that to anyone. Well, perhaps Emma. But certainly no one else. 

He missed her, with every fiber of his being. He missed her cooking, her touches, her hugs and kisses, her laughter and her games. He missed her playfulness and how she looked when she woke up in the morning. He couldn't stand waking up in a hotel room halfway around the globe, alone and sad. He missed how she felt in his arms, how she made him feel—masculine, special, loved. 

And he loved her. He loved her more than anything else in the world, loved her more than he had ever loved anything or anyone. And he needed her to know that. 

So here he was, standing on a quaint little porch in Chicago, ringing the doorbell of a house he wasn't even sure was hers. 

A woman answered, perhaps 60 years old and tiny. 

"Hello, can I help you?" 

"I'm looking for Emma Williamson?" Just as he said it he thought he recognized something in the woman's face, something familiar. A man walked up behind her, no more than six feet tall. 

"Good grief, you're a tall one," the man said without preamble. Then he smiled widely and stuck out his hand. "Lloyd Williamson, and this is my wife Wendy. You're looking for Emma, you said?" 

Rory felt a shimmer of hope at the same last name, and knew that what he had seen was the eyes—the woman had Emma's eyes. "I am," was all he said. It wasn't good enough for the man who, still smiling, narrowed his eyes slightly. 

"And what business, might I ask, do you have with our girl?" 

Our girl. Good grief, these are Emma's parents. Rory cleared his throat, looked around nervously and then back at this little woman and the man standing behind her. 

"I spent a week with her in Alaska, sir," he said, taking his hat off and holding it in his hands. 

"Oh dear," said the woman, her hand on her throat, the smile on her face disappearing. She glanced back at Lloyd, her expression now appearing incredibly too grim for Rory, before both of them stepped out of the way. "Maybe you should come in?" Lloyd was no longer smiling, either. 

Rory was alarmed, though he was ushered into the cutest little home he had ever seen. There were photos everywhere of Emma—as a baby, a toddler, a little girl, and all through her school years. Family photos hung in large frames and nearly every wall had some sort of photo display on it. 

The furniture was old but well cared for, and everything was clean. Wendy took his coat and hung it in a hall closet. Rory surmised that meant he would be staying for a while. They sat him in an armchair in the living room while Lloyd took one side of the couch and Wendy made a pot of coffee in the kitchen. 

Lloyd eyed him slightly suspiciously but remained polite. He mentioned he had spent some time in Scotland when they were stationed in Germany before Emma was born and had always wanted to return. Wendy agreed when she walked in, carrying a tray of coffee supplies that she put on the coffee table. Rory told her he preferred black coffee when Wendy asked him how he liked it. He noted that she liked it the same way, though Lloyd put an exorbitant amount of cream and sugar in his. Just like Emma. 

"Back to Emma," Lloyd was saying. He was a clean-shaven man, obviously ex-military but with a pleasant disposition. He continued, "You said you spent a week with her in Alaska? Mind telling me how that happened?" 

Rory told them of his sister's cancellation and how Emma had ended up in Meghan's seat. He said he learned of her wedding and why she was flying to Alaska, but that the two of them had talked quite a bit on the plane and had gotten to know one another. 

"Well enough to share a hotel room?" Wendy asked, eyes wide. 

"Did Emma not tell you any of this?" Rory asked, wondering who was going to be in more trouble by the time he got to the end—him or Emma. 

"She did not," said Lloyd, sounding irritated. "Continue," he said. 

Rory did, telling them about the two bedroom hotel room and how Emma stayed in one while he stayed in the other. 

"For a time," he added, taking a sip of his coffee and letting that sink it. "But everything was consensual." Lloyd started to sputter, his face turning a shade of pink before Rory amended, "I meant, nothing happened there. I swear. There were times when she was sad and I offered her comfort, but she's..." 

"A hugger," her mother supplied, making Rory smile. "She likes to give hugs when someone is upset, but she also likes to receive them when she is." 

"Yes," Rory said to her with a smile. He liked that description of Emma. "So on the last night she was due to be in Alaska I had already scheduled a trip with my sister to the hot springs resort to see the northern lights." 

"And did you see them?!" Wendy asked, excited. Rory smiled and nodded. 

But then Lloyd spoke up. "And other things happened?" He wasn't smiling, but Rory knew this was not the time to placate. 

"Yes," he said, a bit confused as to why this would be so important to her parents. Weren't parents normally agreeable to not hearing these details? But he continued, "Again that was consensual. Nothing happened that both of us didn't want to happen." Why was this the important conclusion they were coming to? "Emma is special. Very special. And I came to care for her a great deal while we were there. I can't tell you how hard it was to part. It was..." He looked out the window, searching his mind for the right word. "Agonizing," he said finally. He shrugged. "It was painful. I have since come to the conclusion that in my opinion, we never should have parted." 

Then he looked straight at Lloyd's face and with all the courage he had stored up since he'd made this decision, he said, "I would like to ask your daughter to marry me."

~~•~~

Emma pulled up into the driveway of her parent's home in her dad's old Ford pickup, eyeing the small brown car that was parked on the curb. She hadn't thought her parents were expecting visitors today, and she really wasn't feeling very sociable.

She had had three birthdays today—had left the house at 8am and was just now getting home at 4pm. Her back was sore from leaning over so many cute little faces today. She must have had fifty kids (and a couple parents) put their hands on her stomach. It was large, and at only six months pregnant she felt like a whale. 

The birthdays had gone well, even garnering her a couple tips and three more birthdays scheduled from parents who liked her work. It was so rewarding, watching all those little superheroes and princesses running around after she had cleaned up at the parties. And it didn’t hurt that at the end of the day she would bring in three nice checks to help offset her imprint on her parent's household. 

She had been setting aside a portion of all her earnings for the future. She would need a down payment on a small house and eventually a car big enough to carry car seats and all of her painting supplies. Soon, she reminded herself. It wouldn't be long now. 

She walked around to the other side of the truck and grabbed her bucket that held all her supplies. She knew she could ask her dad to get her table and chairs out of the back. He never minded helping her now that she was so far along in her pregnancy, and more often than not she found herself asking him. 

When she got up to the door she took out her key but her mom was already there, opening the door for her. "Emma, honey," she said, though weirdly loud. 

"Hi mom," she said confused, looking at her mom as though she had grown an extra head. "What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" Her mom had a smile plastered to her face—it looked fake—as she took the bucket from Emma's arms. "Why don't you go into the living room. I'll take your coat." 

Still confused, Emma let the coat Rory had bought for her slide off her shoulders. It didn't fit across her belly of course but with summer coming she hadn't seen the need to buy a maternity jacket. 

Her dad walked out of the living room, looking like he had just sat through the Spanish inquisition. "Dad!" She said, alarmed. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?! You're looking at me like... like..." She caught sight of a figure coming around the corner of the doorway to the living room and looked up. 

And into Rory's face. Rory's very shocked face, which wasn't even focused on her but on her belly. His mouth was open as though he was going to say something, but he was frozen. Then his eyes slid up to meet hers.

This was not happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was not supposed to be here. She blinked, hoping that when she opened her eyes everything would be back to normal and that Rory would disappear, and she could go on thinking that her heart wasn’t breaking every day at the simple thought of him.

But when she opened her eyes he was still there, and her parents were standing off to the side, her mother in her father’s arms, Wendy’s mouth worrying at her nails as she watched her daughter come to terms with what was happening.

Suddenly it was all too much. 

Tears filled her eyes and she turned, stepping between her parents and walking towards the back of the house where her bedroom was, her steps calm and measured. She would have run had her size not been an impediment. 

She heard hushed voices behind her and footsteps, strides so long that they only could have been Rory's. He was saying her name, she was sure of it, but she wasn't really hearing it. She couldn't hear over the heartbeat rushing through her ears, the woosh woosh of her heart suddenly pushing blood through her veins at an abnormally fast rate. 

She was going to faint if she didn't lie down, so just as she entered her room, she pushed the door shut behind her and sat on the edge of her twin-sized bed. She laid back and rolled over, adjusting so that her belly was resting against the bed comfortably and she could curl around her body pillow and turn her face into her pillow and cry.

~~•~~

Rory could hear her sobs, and he knocked on the door but she didn't answer. When a second knock went unanswered he looked down the hallway to where Wendy and Lloyd were still standing by the front door.

Emma was pregnant. Emma was VERY pregnant. And without any doubt in his mind Rory knew he was the father. He had been floored when he had walked around that corner and saw her standing there, as beautiful as ever, wearing his red scarf. She looked the same, though tired, and her high waisted maternity shirt had only emphasized the increased size of her breasts and the roundness of her belly. 

He didn't know what to think. He had decided to come here and propose to her, not to find her halfway done with making their family. He hadn't even thought about the possibility of kids. Well, not much, really. He'd always thought Emma would make a great mom. 

He felt so stupid. He'd never thought about the possibility of her wanting to have kids with him. Or using protection at the hotel. For fuck's sake. 

A baby. And he was the father. 

He turned towards the front of the house and strode towards Wendy and Lloyd. Wendy almost looked scared, as though Rory might get mad because of Emma. Lloyd looked ready for a fight. Rory stood before them, hands on his hips, looking this way and that, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. A million thoughts were running through his mind. What were they on about? Why had they welcomed him into their home, sat for an hour talking to him about inconsequential things, when the elephant in the room was that their daughter was pregnant with his baby?? 

He couldn't take it anymore and he sat on the bench outside the coat closet and put his head in his hands. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked. 

Lloyd answered. "When it became apparent to us that you had no idea, I suppose I just didn’t know how to tell you." 

"Me as well, Rory," said Wendy, apologetically. "But I wasn't expecting that to be Emma's reaction." Wendy sat beside him on the bench and put one comforting hand on his back. "Rory, Emma has been depressed since she got back from Alaska." 

"Now, hold on Wendy," Lloyd said, holding his hand up for her to stop talking. "I want to know what Rory's intentions are before we tell him anything private about our Emma." 

Rory's head shot up. "My intentions? My intentions?! She's carrying my child!" He noted the look they shot between each other at his raised voice, but went he on. "What did you expect, that I'd see her and walk out, never to be seen again??" He was upset, very upset, but he needed to remind himself that Emma was their baby and they would want to protect her. 

"I'm sorry," he said more calmly, taking a deep breath as he rubbed both hands over his face. Then he looked up at Lloyd. 

"My intentions are to ask her to marry me, but what's changed is that I will no longer accept No as an answer." Lloyd's bushy eyebrows went up. "I love your daughter, and now I am finding that I--” Rory paused as emotion swelled in his throat. Shit, this was turning out to be a day to remember. “I love the child she's carrying," he said, feeling it was the truth. He was baffled, though. He felt as though someone had just pulled a rug out from under his feet. "I love her and I want to care for her, provide for her, and yes, I understand she has a choice but my intentions are to be a part of Emma's life and that child's life. If she doesn't choose me," his voice broke and he paused to clear his throat. "If she doesn't choose me, I will still love her, care for her and provide for her. For as long as I live." 

He glanced over at Wendy, who had tears in her eyes. She smiled at Rory. "I was saying, she has been depressed for six months. The pregnancy makes her happy, we know this. And I must say that in the beginning I thought some of the depression was because of Keith." She shot a look up at Lloyd who had wrinkled his face in disgust at the sound of that name. "But it wasn't. She refused to talk about Alaska, other than that she saw the lights and had a good time. We knew something happened there, but didn't know what it was." 

She stood and walked to Lloyd's side, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Thank you for coming, Rory. You're welcome to stay for dinner, and we can let Emma have some quiet time to process what's happening. She has been so tired lately with work and all, that I'd be willing to bet she's sleeping now." 

Rory was thankful for the invitation so he nodded. But he asked, "She's been working a lot?" 

Wendy gave him a sad look. "She won't listen to reason. She wants to save money and she helps us out with the bills. She doesn't know that the money she has given us is in a jar in our closet. We're going to give it to her when the time is right." She wrapped her arm around Lloyd's waist. "She's our daughter. We won't have her pay us for something we'd give her willingly." 

Rory nodded, understanding. They loved Emma, as did he. But if she wasn't taking care of the baby—their baby—he was going to talk to her. He had plenty of money, could pay for her if she never wanted to work ever again. But he knew how painting was so important to her, and would of course help offset the bills for her parents and provide for Emma and the baby. 

He just had to convince her to marry him.

~~•~~

Emma woke a couple hours later, her eyes feeling puffy and her throat sore. She needed a drink and to wash her face. Her hands were stained with paint and she was sure she looked like a mess. She just needed to clean up. She cradled Rory's red scarf to her chest.

Rory, She couldn't believe he had been there. Or was he still? She hadn't meant to fall asleep but seeing him had wiped out the last traces of her energy. She sat up, the aching in her back having slightly subsided. Sometimes her mom would rub it for her but she didn't think that was going to happen right now. 

If Rory was still there, she was going to have to face him at some point. She stood up and walked over to the door to her bedroom, putting her ear against it. She could hear voices and mixed among them was Rory's deep Scottish accent. So he was still here. She also smelled lasagna. Great. That meant her mother already liked Rory. She didn't make her lasagna for just anyone. 

Pushing aside the thought of why she would be irritated that her mother liked Rory, Emma left the scarf on the bed and opened the door of her room quietly, rushing across the hall to the bathroom. Another of her needs was to relieve herself, which she did. Then she wet a washcloth and patted her face with the cool water, willing the redness of her eyes to go away. Using the drink cup her mom had left in there for her, she drank a cup of water and, feeling now somewhat refreshed, sat down on the edge of the tub instead of going out to confront Rory. 

Why would he be here? Walking away from him at the airport—for the second time—was the hardest thing she had ever done. Even more so than the first time, because this second time she knew she didn't have any options. She was at once glad to see him, and mad that he had come back. Oh, how she had missed his handsome face. But she felt like he could ruin everything—her tenuous grip on reality, the plans she had made for her future, the new relationship she had built with her parents. Bringing Rory into the mix was going to throw a wrench in it all, and after that one amazing week in Alaska, she had come back knowing that stability was what she'd needed. 

A pregnancy hadn't been in the plans but even when she'd found out about it, there was planning for it that lent a certain level of satisfaction when thinking about the future. She KNEW babies were a lot of work, KNEW the supplies she'd need when her due date came, and she KNEW that her normal would forever be changed once she was no longer pregnant. 

A thought crossed her mind—what would Rory want to do? But she pushed it aside, knowing that Rory would never do anything to hurt her. He would drag his Scottish butt across the earth to be with her if it meant making her happy. 

So, is that what he was doing here? 

It was time to find out. 

When she opened the door he was standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets staring at the floor. He raised his head when he saw her, his forehead wrinkling as he lifted his brows in his most puppy-dog-eyes look. He stared at her eyes instead of looking dumbfounded at her stomach this time. He was so handsome it hurt her heart. But she wasn't going to say that. She wasn't going to say anything. He needed to speak. 

After a moment he did indeed. "Emma..." He took a step towards her but she retreated a step, not wanting him to touch her. If he touched her it would be all over. None of his words would matter. All that would matter was that she was in his arms again. 

"Emma," he began again, "Why didn't you contact me? When you found out you were pregnant, why didn't you at least try?" He looked hurt. She had never considered that he would actually know about the baby, so she felt remorse now. She had never intended to hurt him. 

"We were never going to see each other again, Rory. I'm going to be a good mom, and I thought that was going to be enough." She looked down, put her hand on her stomach. "I thought what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you." Even as she said the words they felt hollow. She was beginning to feel her mistake deep in her bones. She looked up at him, genuine regret on her face. "I'm so sorry, Rory. I can see now that I should have tried to contact you. I don't think I would have had much luck but I should have at least tried. We never exchanged phone numbers or anything like that." 

Rory nodded, but he was still bothered by something. 

"I don't want you to think you're obligated to anything. This was a surprise to me, but I'm okay with doing it alone. I have my parents and--" 

"What?!" He came off the wall then, his voice raising a bit. "Alone? How could you ever think I would let you go through something like this alone, Emma?" 

His outburst brought Lloyd out into the hallway but Emma waved him away. "All I'm saying is that if you don't want--" 

"I DO want, Emma," he said, more quietly this time. "I don't feel obligated to you," he said, making the word sound offensive. "I came back because I needed to see you again. I wanted to see you again." He stepped closer again and this time she didn't move away. "I've been miserable without you, Emma. The people I work with have thrown me out, they say not to come back unless it's with you." 

She smiled a little, picturing him growling like a bear at people. He reached down and held her hands in his. The first contact between them in six months brought tears to her eyes. 

"Rory, we need to think about this." Emma closed her eyes and gulped, her condition doing what it had been doing since she'd discovered it—causing her to be a realist. As much as she wanted Rory to profess his undying love, this wasn't a situation where they had spent years together and marriage and babies was the next step. 

They had spent a week together. In a hotel room. Without life's interference. What if he was a slob at home? What if he hated something about her? What if their families clashed, or they couldn't reconcile their schedules to make a relationship work? 

She looked up at him, noting the concern and confusion in his eyes. But she did what she felt she had to do to protect herself. She pulled her hands away and stepped back from him, sadness filling her heart. "Rory, we hardly know each other, really. A week isn't long enough to know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone who just days ago was a complete stranger." Rory looked offended. He scoffed, and gave a small shake of his head. 

"Isn't it?" He asked, as Wendy rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. 

"Dinner's ready," she said with a tremulous smile at the sight that confronted her—Emma frowning and backed up against the bathroom door, and Rory with his hands in his pockets looking like he wanted to say something. Without another word she backed away into the living room. 

"No, Rory," she said, even though she knew she might be breaking both their hearts. "It's not long enough. Not for me, anyway." 

"I'm not leaving, Emma," Rory said adamantly, though he kept his distance. Then he smiled incredulously, looking away as he put a hand to his head. Then with the same hand he gestured at her stomach. "That baby is mine as much as it is yours, and I'm not leaving now that I know I'm going to be a father!" His hand fell, and he looked from her eyes to her belly and back to her eyes. But then his gaze fell to her belly again, and he shook his head. "A father," he said softly, and Emma ached to go to him. 

But it just wasn't right, it didn't feel right. He was here because he had wanted to find her again, but now he was staying because she was pregnant and he was the dad. Oh, why couldn't things have happened normally, or not at all? Why had she gone and fallen in love with Rory, and then given in to her basic instincts and gotten into bed with him? She had royally screwed everything up, and just as she'd been ready to move on with her life, his handsome self had to show back up at her front door. 

And he was—so handsome, that is. He towered over her, and she could remember the naked expanse of his chest covered in soft hairs, the slope of his shoulders under her lips, the feel of his arm muscles beneath her hands. She remembered the way he kissed the back of her neck and the way it would make her shiver, and the feel of him hovering above her, ready to thrust into her. And she remembered how safe and loved she felt laying in his arms that night at the hotel, in between lovemakings as they cuddled and tried not to think of their parting. 

It felt most unfair that he was standing before her now and yet he was not hers. Nor would he ever be, really. She'd thought it back then and she was thinking it now—it just wasn't in the cards for them. 

But just then she felt a strong movement in her belly and she put a hand on her stomach and one on her back, moaning slightly at the discomfort. 

Rory snapped to attention. "Oh!" He exclaimed, holding his hands out but not touching her. "What do you want me to do?" 

Emma looked up into his concerned eyes and smiled slightly. "Nothing, Rory," she assured him. The movements had been steadily getting uncomfortable for a few weeks, but right now that wasn't the worst part. So now she just waddled past him down the hallway, and left him to follow her into the dining room. 

Dinner was an awkward affair, with her parents eeking out of Rory every ounce of conversation he was willing to give. He spoke about the show he was working on, about his home in Scotland, and his sister and nephew. They in turn told him every embarrassing story they could think of from Emma's childhood. 

There were many laughs from three out of the four people seated at that table, and when Emma had finished her meal she excused herself. Rory, ever the gentleman, had stood and offered to help her get to wherever she was going to go. But she declined his help, and instead stood to retrieve her paint brushes from the other room so she could wash them before heading to bed. 

Her brush container was in the hallway so she took it into the kitchen and laid out the dirty brushes at the counter beside the sink. On the other side she put a paper towel to catch the clean brushes. 

She could hear her parents and Rory speaking in the dining room, the tone of his deep accented voice carrying through the adjoining doorway. 

Emma couldn't help it—she closed her eyes against the tears forming again, as she soaped up the bristles on a handful of brushes. 

His being here had ruined everything. For months she had pushed away memories of him as they attempted to encroach on her daily life. His visage entered her mind at odd times during the day, and the yearning for him had never quite left. But then she thought she had found a happy medium—allowing images of him to remain on the outskirts of her mind as she loved and cherished the evidence of their meeting—her growing belly and what was inside. 

She looked down now, almost chuckling at how it pushed her away from the counter. But her belly was blurry, her hands and the brushes were blurry, so she resumed her gaze out the window, at the cold lake behind her parents' home. 

Rory said he wasn't leaving, and she was going to have to deal with that. But what she couldn't allow happen was-- 

At the same time she realized there was an absence of voices, she smelled Rory's cologne. She turned before she realized what she was doing and looked at him, leaning against the doorway, as a tear overflowed and rolled down her cheek. 

"Emma," he growled as he came towards her. She panicked. 

"No, Rory," she pleaded, shaking her head and dragging her eyes away from him. She held a handful of dripping wet brushes, her hands covered in soap. Perhaps that's why she didn't push him away as he enfolded her in his arms, or at least that's what she told herself. They hung at her sides, dripping discolored water and suds on the floor as he held her head to his chest with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. She had to awkwardly lean over her belly, but she didn't push him away. 

"Emma, don't do this," he entreated. "Don't tell me to go." 

Still she stayed, despite her mind telling her that this was all wrong, and that she should be strong and independent and not be leaning into him as she was, savoring the warmth coming through his shirt against her cheek, the hardness of his chest underneath. 

"But you must," she whispered, and his arms tightened around her. "You don't know me, and I don't know you, Rory. We're strangers, and we live on opposite sides of the globe. You're a jet-setting celebrity and I'm a nobody." She sniffed as tears wet the front of his shirt. 

Rory pulled away then, and he saw the brushes in her hands. He spoke as he brought her hands to the still-running water in the wink and rinsed them off for her. 

"You're wrong, Emma. I DO know you." He took a hand towel from the front of the stove and gently dried her hands. It was so loving that Emma felt a fresh wave of tears coming. "I know how you like your coffee, I know you like to wear comfortable clothes when you're at home, I know the movies you like, the foods you like." 

He looked around and saw a kitchen stool in the corner, so he dragged it over and led her to sit on it. Then he knelt on one knee in front of her, still holding onto her hands. 

"I know," he said, with a small smile at her, "That you're sensitive on your thighs, and that you like spooning while you sleep, and that your kisses taste like Heaven." Emma blushed, surprised at the direction of his thoughts. He continued, "I know the sound of your voice when I'm inside you, the feel of your nails on my skin as you climax, and the way your body feels so good under mine." 

"Rory!" She glanced at the kitchen door, making sure there was no one listening. But there could have been a freight train running through the living room for all that he was paying attention. 

"And I know you're the sweetest woman I've ever met, the most beautiful, with the biggest, kindest heart." He put his hands on her thighs then, letting her clasped hands fall to her lap, and he rubbed them up to her hips and down to her knees, watching his hands as though he were touching her for the first time. 

Then he was looking into her eyes as he said, "I know that I was never as happy as I was when I was with you in Alaska, nor as unhappy as what I was after you left and for these last few months." 

Emma shook her head, loving what he was saying but at the same time not wanting to hear any of it. 

"Emma, please let me stay. I want to show you how much you mean to me, and prove to you that I mean what I say when I say I want you by my side for the rest of my life." He smiled then, placing a wide, Rory-sized hand over the top of her belly. "You, and this little guy." 

Emma had been feeling sentimental as he spoke, beginning to believe the things he was saying. And as he reached into his pocket, the last thing he said stuck with her, and she realized there was something he didn't know. 

"Rory," she began, but he shook his head. 

"Emma, I've been waiting six months to say this." 

"No, Rory, there's something you need to know." That brought him up short, and he paused. His gray eyes looked up into hers expectantly, with a bit of uncertainty. Emma was having trouble speaking, having guessed what he was going to pull out of his pocket. She swallowed and closed her eyes, knowing she needed to tell him this but so unsure if she wanted to hear what he was going to say. 

So instead, she took a mental step back from the seriousness of the situation and she smiled lightly down at him. "What makes you think it's a boy?" 

Rory smiled sheepishly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Emma yearned to reach out and touch him, but she wasn't at the point where she felt that was safe to do. 

"I'm hoping, I suppose," he said, and he put his hand back on her belly. They hadn't had a conversation yet about the baby, so she supposed this was as good a time as ever. 

"What if it's a girl?" Emma's mood was lifting a bit, having needed to lighten the mood before she crumbled into a messy pool of tears at his feet. 

Rory sat back on his heel, one hand on her belly and one still in his pocket. "Well," he started, obviously thinking about what he was going to say. "I suppose if she is as beautiful and sweet as her mother, I couldn't complain, now, could I?" And he smiled widely at her, his male pride showing he felt he had answered correctly. 

Emma had to laugh, and she sighed heavily as she allowed her hands to cover his on her stomach. It felt so good—feeling his skin under hers, the hairs on the back of his hand, the warmth under her fingertips. Who would have thought that this small contact would feel so erotic? 

Keeping with the task she had set out for herself, she slid his hand over her shirt to the left side, and pressed his fingertips down so he could feel the baby beneath her skin. Rory's mouth fell open as the shape of the baby became apparent, as he felt the body inside her body. His eyes came up to hers and she thought the look in them would make her cry. His had turned wet, and he smiled at her. 

"This is the boy," she said, and Rory huffed out a breath. He looked pleased, but then she slid his hand to her right side and pushed on his fingertips, allowing him to feel the shape again beneath his fingers. 

"Rory," she said gently, not knowing how he was going to take this. "This... this is the girl." 

Rory was staring at her belly, again not smiling. He looked up at her, and then down at where her hand was pressing his to her belly, and then back up at her. 

"What?" His face was emotionless, and Emma actually thought he might be going into shock. 

"Twins, Rory. We're having twins." 

He still looked dumbfounded. "You mean... Two babies?" Emma nodded, smiling gently, praying he was still happy about it. 

"Twins?" He asked, more loudly this time. His hand came out of his pocket to cup her belly, one on each side. He shifted so he was kneeling on both legs and moved closer to her, kneeling between her legs. His head was at the level of her breasts but his eyes were on her stomach, and then up to hers in turn. The shocked look on his face turned to one of surprise, and then the corners of his mouth began to lift. "Twins," he whispered, rubbing his hands slowly over the surface of her shirt. Then he looked up at her with a wide smile on his face. 

Suddenly something occurred to him because he stood quickly and walked to the doorway of the dining room. "Wendy!" He called, and then, "Lloyd!" Emma could hear their footsteps coming from the living room. She didn't know what Rory was doing until he walked back to where she was sitting. "Did you know about this?" Rory was asking them, and Lloyd chuckled. 

"Well, it's hard to miss how big her stomach is." 

Wendy smacked him in the shoulder, but she smiled at Rory, the same gentle smile Emma had given him. "Yes, we knew," she told him. "But it wasn't for us to say. That was for Emma." 

Rory looked down at Emma, still in a bit of shock. He resumed his kneeling position in front of her and then looked up into her eyes. 

"This doesn't change anything, Emma," he was saying, and she wondered what he meant. But then his hand went to his pocket again and she started to feel anxious. Did she want this? Was it possible? Would Rory even take No for an answer? No, likely not, she thought. 

As he pulled the small, square box out of his pocket she thought of her parents, and possibly leaving them behind here in America to go live with Rory. She thought about raising two babies across the globe. Then she thought of having Rory sharing her bed every day for the rest of their lives, of being legally bound to him as man and wife. Was it possible? 

Rory spoke then, "Emma, I love you. I have loved you... probably since that first plane trip to Anchorage. I loved you the whole week we were in Alaska, and I have loved you for the last six months. I will love you today, and tomorrow, and every day for the rest of our lives." Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of her belly, and she couldn't stop her hand from coming up to touch his hair, his cheek. Her hand fell as he pulled away. "I will love these babies, OUR babies, for the rest of my life." 

He opened the box, revealing a yellow gold band with a rectangular cut diamond in the center. Coming out from each side was a triangle cluster of round gemstones—red, orange and yellow on one side, and blue, green and purple on the other. 

"A rainbow, because you've brought color to my life. Because rainbows only appear after it's rained. And because you are a spectrum unto yourself, and I love every bit of it." He picked up her hand and slid the ring onto her empty ring finger, and lifted it to his mouth to kiss the backs of her fingers. 

"Emma, I know you have reservations and I know you're uncertain about us. But please let me show you how good it is between us, how right we are for each other. So you don't have to answer me now, but will you please allow me to court you for a time?" 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother's hand cover her mouth, and she knew with that line Rory had just won her mother over permanently. 

He wanted to marry her, without a doubt. And he was saying he wanted to spend the rest of his life together, with her and their babies. But would it work out? He was right—she was very uncertain. 

"I will--," she began, and then she paused, working out how she would say it. "I accept your proposal of courting," she said with a shy smile, but the look on Rory's face was as happy as if she'd said she would marry him then and there. She had to laugh, and he stood and drew her up into his arms. 

"I love you, Emma," he said into her hair, but she couldn't return the words, no matter how true they were. She loved him, but would it be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a sucker for babies. And what's more sexy than a big man and a baby?
> 
> (FYI, this may be a recurring theme in my fics lol because... Well, just because!)


	10. What She Wanted All Along

Rory spent the next week doing everything he could think of for Emma, and her parents. He still didn't completely understand her resistance to saying yes to his proposal, or to completely welcoming him here, but he would wait and see what she figured out on her own. Meanwhile her parents had put him up in their spare bedroom across the hall from Emma's room, so he spent every night aching for her in private at night, and being supportive during the day.

Doing things for Emma often meant enlisting her parents' help in convincing her to take it. For instance, he went with her on every face painting job now. He and her parents reasoned that Rory was here, available to help, and that she was carrying twins. Her mother claimed it would only be a matter of days before the doctor ordered her to bed rest, but it never seemed to happen. Rory carried her equipment and made sure she was set up, and then usually sat in the car or went for a walk at nearby stores while he waited for her to finish. 

But he regularly got to see her work now, and it was a pleasure. 

She was fantastic with children, and she lived up to everything she ever told him about loving her work. She was good at what she did, as well. She had obviously practiced quite a bit during her time here. 

He loved watching her interact with the kids, noting that she smiled often, joked with the kids to make them smile, made silly sound effects with each brush stroke, and made sure that every little girl was adequately smothered in glitter. Not that he'd had any qualms before, but seeing her like this made him realize just how good of a mother she was going to be to their son and daughter. 

It was still amazing to him that they were going to have twins. He remembered the moment he'd seen her and the torrent of emotions that had flooded his mind. Her stomach was big and there had, of course, been no doubt in his mind what had happened. They'd never used condoms during their one night together in Alaska. 

But there was never any doubt in his mind that he would not be walking away from her. He was a man on a mission, and now his goal was just to marry three people instead of the one. He didn't allow himself to consider whether she would tell him no in the end. Even she couldn't deny the connection between them, the attraction that smoldered just beneath the surface whenever her body got close to his. 

The current state of her body had not changed his level of desire for her. On the contrary, seeing her bulging stomach and knowing that it was his children inside her, his seed that created them, their moments of passion in Alaska that had started the chain reaction, made his blood pool in his groin at random times during the day. It made it so that her pregnant body was just a new aphrodisiac that he was having to spend time around while being denied the privilege of touching it and exploring it. 

Today was, in fact, the first time he had ever seen her stomach first hand while pregnant. They were at a check-up at her obstetrician's office, a Dr. Renee Burke who, Emma explained, was a friend of the family. The woman was about his age, very professional, and even more intimidating than Emma's parents had been the first time he'd met them. She was obviously very fond of Emma, because when Emma smiled from where she was laying on her back on the exam table, introducing Rory to Dr. Burke, the older woman had taken his hand but had looked at him with barely concealed hostility. 

"Ah, so the father makes an appearance," she said, though she softened it with a smile in Emma's direction. Her graying hair was pulled back in a rigid bun and she wore smart slacks and a dress shirt beneath her lab coat. But her tenderness for Emma shone through in the look they shared. 

"To his credit," Emma said, surprising him, "It would have helped if I had told him I was pregnant." Dr. Burke's eyebrows raised as Emma went on, "He showed up for a... visit... and found me six months pregnant." 

"Yes, well, his job of support is more important now than ever." Dr. Burke leveled him with a look, eyebrows still raised. "You plan on sticking around, okay? Emma is going to need a lot of help as her pregnancy progresses." 

Rather than letting her get his hackles up, he merely smiled at her and responded, "Yes, ma'am," before taking Emma's hand in his as the doctor reached for the ultrasound jelly. 

He was nervous. He glanced down at Emma, but she was staring at the ultrasound screen in anticipation of what was going to appear on the monitor. Her shirt was drawn up to just under her bra, and Dr. Burke had tucked a sheet into the top of Emma's waistband, which was now almost so low on her body that any further and Rory likely would have been able to see her umber colored curls. He tried not to think of that as he reached for Emma's hand. 

At the contact her gaze shot up to him, her mouth open slightly in surprise. She blinked, but her expression remained unreadable as she returned her eyes to the screen and let her head rest back against the pillow. But her hand tightened almost imperceptibly in his as Dr. Burke laid the wand on the lower side of Emma's belly. 

Her skin was pale and he could see the stretch marks striping up her stomach, but as she laid there, hugely pregnant belly exposed and her hand in his, he felt his throat constrict. Never in a million years had he ever thought he would be here, in an obstetrician's office, with a woman carrying his child—let alone with Emma, who was carrying two of his children. It blew his mind, and he felt emotion well up inside of him. 

Almost immediately a shape formed on the screen that he recognized as a skull, and as Dr. Burke slid the wand upwards to show the body and then back to the head, she paused and looked at Rory. 

"This is your daughter," she explained, having checked the gender before returning to the head. She kept the wand on the tiny baby and he watched the little girl twitch and move inside Emma's womb. At the movement Rory jumped, it startling him to see that on the screen. Emma just laughed. 

"She must not like being poked and prodded," she said, staring at the screen. Dr. Burke laughed as well and agreed. 

Rory stayed silent as the doctor repeated the process on the other side, showing Rory his son. She even showed him the little boy parts and showed him how they looked different on the ultrasound screen from the little girl's. The boy laid mostly still, his movements more subdued than that of his sister. 

Rory brought his second hand up to clasp over the back of Emma's hand, but seemed unable to take his eyes off the screen as Dr. Burke examined the babies' bodies, took measurements and checked for any abnormalities. When she hovered over their heartbeats Rory felt tears come to his eyes. 

The ultrasound was over but it was followed by a quick internal exam, throughout which Emma held his hand. He knew it must not have been comfortable to be prodded in that fashion, but he welcomed the contact between his and Emma’s hands, willing her to feel his support in the grasp he had on her. Then, as Dr. Burke lowered Emma's legs gently to the table, her stomach began to move. 

Rory nearly gasped out loud at what he saw. Emma's other hand came up to press on her belly, giving a quiet, "Oh," at the movement. Dr. Burke eyed Rory until he looked up at her, those tears back in his eyes. He felt completely unmanned by the two little humans growing inside Emma's belly and he figured that is what Dr. Burke saw in his expression. She quietly excused herself from the room for a few minutes, causing Emma to look up at Rory, confusion on her face. 

But then she saw his tears, and she stilled, her face expressionless as Rory scooted the chair so he was sitting directly facing her stomach. It was still twitching, the indistinguishable shapes inside her moving her skin, poking here, sliding there. Rory was mesmerized but also completely emotional at what he was seeing. 

"May I?" he almost whispered, barely glancing at her before bringing both his hands up to wipe at his eyes. Expression still blank, Emma nodded at him, so he focused his attention on her belly and brought his hands up to gently rest on her skin. 

Beneath him he felt the movement, felt the little lives inside her kick and twitch. He had to close his eyes against the emotion welling up there, but he opened them again to watch her skin undulate with the movements of the babies. "Amazing," he whispered, but he could barely see through the tears in his eyes. Again, he wiped them away and brought his hand back to Emma's stomach. 

Emma sat still during his moment with the babies, and he was thankful that she was giving him this time. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she'd tried to rush him, or denied him this. But he knew Emma never would have acted like that. He knew that, despite her resistance to accepting his proposal and welcoming him into her life, she was aware that he was a present and willing father to her children—their children—and that her heart was big enough to accommodate this new, sudden role he had been thrust into. 

He slid his hands over her belly, feeling where both of the babies were inside. He couldn't ignore how good it felt to know that it was Emma under his hands, her skin that his hands were sliding over, and her body that he was sitting so close to, smelling, touching. 

Suddenly it was too much—the wanting her, the knowledge that he was going to be a dad, the not knowing if she was going to accept him. Tears slipped out and over his cheeks before he knew to stop them, and he ducked his head, not really wanting Emma to see him like that. But she had, and as he rested his forehead against the side of her belly, her small hand came up to rest on the back of his head. 

She let him sit there for a couple minutes while he composed himself, her fingers twining through the hair at the back of his head, gliding over his scalp and resting on the back of his neck. Her hand was small but warm, and its presence on his skin was comforting. 

Then just as suddenly, it was gone and she was struggling to sit up. Rory gave his eyes a quick wipe before standing and grasping her by the elbows, pulling her to a sitting position. He watched as she took the sheet and wiped the jelly off her stomach, her face inscrutable. She pulled her shirt down and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit with them dangling off the edge. 

Rory stood off to the side, his hand fiddling with the heavy metal watch he wore on the opposite wrist. Better that than reaching for her, he knew. He didn't want to embarrass himself. He had to remind himself that the goal of this extended visit was to convince her that she needed him as much as he needed her, and he wouldn't accomplish that by trying to force her hand. So he stood, unmoving, as she rested with her head down, her hands grasping the edges of the table on either side of her. 

He never got the opportunity to speak to her then, as Dr. Burke chose that moment to knock and come back into the room. Rory remained by the door, though he was sure the doctor could feel the change in the atmosphere in the room. She kept shooting surreptitious glances over at Rory as she spoke to Emma about how the babies were healthy, growing right on track with what they could expect of twins, and that Emma was to rest whenever she felt tired, no matter what she was doing. The main objective was to allow the babies to develop inside her for as long as possible, without raising the risk of early birth. 

A short time later he and Emma were in his rental car, pulling up to the driveway of her parents' home. He climbed out and came around to open her door, and she welcomed his hand to assist her in pulling her heavy body out of the low car. 

"Emma--" 

"Rory--" she said, but they both spoke at the same time. He motioned for her to go first. 

"I'll..." She paused, looking at him and then the expanse of land behind his right shoulder. "I'm going to go take a nap. I'll see you at dinner." Then she walked around him, leaving him standing there with his hand resting on the open door of the car. He watched her walk slowly to the front door, and up the stairs, before disappearing inside. 

He had been about to remind her that what he was offering was forever, that he wanted her and him to raise their son and daughter together, to love each other and cherish each other until death do they part. 

But perhaps it was for the best that she'd walked away. He tried to remind himself—again—that pressuring her would likely end up with the opposite conclusion as what he wanted. 

But then—bullshit, he didn't want to wait. With a harsh slam of the car door, he ran both hands over his hair and turned to look at the house, knowing that inside, the woman he loved was likely laying herself down on her bed. He could picture her so clearly—the long, dark hair, the rosy lips, those hands that he had so enjoyed roaming over his body in their hot springs hotel room. It hurt his heart that she wanted to keep those things from him, and with a growl he strode up to the door and opened it, intending on giving her a piece of his mind. 

But right inside the door, as though she had been waiting for him, stood Wendy, a frilly apron about her waist and a wooden spoon in her hand. 

"Rory!" she exclaimed, smiling widely. During the last couple of weeks he had grown fond of her, and he bent down—way down—to press a chaste kiss to the small woman's cheek. 

"Wendy," he said by way of greeting. 

"Come, come," she said, waving him to follow her as she walked towards the kitchen door. He slid his coat off and hung it in the closet beside the door. "I'm in need of your assistance in the kitchen." 

He smiled but sighed as he watched her go into the kitchen. Talking to Emma was going to have to wait. 

Wendy stood at the counter, a large mixing bowl in front of her. At the sound of him entering the kitchen she turned and smiled that same smile she'd been giving him for the last two weeks—motherly, understanding. It was a smile that had been more often inspiring him to open up to her. 

He never divulged details of his and Emma's stay in Alaska, but he'd told her more about the trip, more about what he loved about Emma, and how hard it was to live six whole months not knowing anything about how she was, what she was doing, and if she wanted to see him again. In turn Wendy had warmed up to him, and treated him more as the son-in-law he wished to be. 

"Help me stir this, Rory," she said, setting the huge bowl of cookie dough aside and moving to the cabinet where she kept her pans. Rory did as he was told, stirring the big pile of flour into the ingredients below. 

"So," said Wendy as she prepared her cookie sheets, "How did the appointment go?" Her back was turned to him but he could hear the smile in her voice. He turned to her at the same time she looked back at him, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creasing with her knowing grin. 

"Yes, it was nice," he replied, grudgingly, though he couldn't help but smile back. 

"You got to meet your son and daughter today." Rory turned back to the bowl but he nodded, not really wanting her to see the emotion in his eyes as he remembered seeing the babies, feeling them move, and his moment with them while Emma had laid there on the table, leaving him to his own thoughts. 

"My grandbabies," Wendy was saying, and he glanced at her to see her paused, holding her pan in one hand and a can of spray in the other, staring out the window. "I must say," she went on, "I hadn't really expected Emma to give me grand kids." 

This surprised Rory. He turned towards her, waiting for her to go on. 

"She's in her thirties now, and as much as I wanted to see her happy, I really hoped nothing would come of her relationship with Keith. He was such a bad man, with a cold heart. I wasn't sorry when he didn't show up at the church on her wedding day." 

"Nor I," said Rory, before he realized he'd voiced his thought. But Wendy smiled at him, going back to spraying the pan before moving onto the next one. 

"I never expected grandkids, but getting two at once at first seemed overwhelming. And for Emma to come back from Alaska to the role of single motherhood, I thought she'd hooked up with another low-life and gotten herself pregnant." She put the pan down on the counter quietly, then reached to turn on the oven to preheat. "So imagine my surprise when you showed up at our door, this giant of a man proclaiming to love our baby girl and wanting to marry her." 

She walked back over to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm, interrupting his stirring. Her fingers were dry and cool to the touch, her modest wedding band as pretty now as it likely was thirty-five years ago when Lloyd had given it to her. 

"Don't lose heart, Rory," she said, looking up into his eyes. "I am certain that Emma will come around." 

Rory snorted in disbelief, showing Wendy his frustration in the short noise. 

"I know, I know," she said, though her smile never left her face. "Emma can be stubborn. She hangs onto things that are dying, opens her heart to the disadvantaged, and loves everyone. But I'm positive she sees the good in you, just as I do." Rory met her eyes, surprised that she would talk so frankly to him. "I can say that I would love to have you as a son-in-law, Rory." 

He didn't know what to say. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. But before he could say anything to her, she reached for a big bag of chocolate, dumping the whole thing into the bowl of cookie dough. 

"Now mix that, and you and I can make cookies until Emma wakes up." 

They remained in the kitchen for the next two hours, rolling cookies into balls, baking them on the cookie sheets, transferring them to cooling racks and then refilling the sheets with more dough. Between batches they sat at the small kitchen table and spoke, he telling her about his childhood, his job, the people he worked with, as she told him about Emma's childhood and what she was like growing up. 

That was where Emma found them. 

 

 

Emma had needed the nap. She had needed to recover from the appointment that day. It took all her strength not to take Rory in her arms and cry, "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!" The tears in his eyes had nearly been her undoing, and she needed to remove herself as soon as they'd gotten home. 

She didn't know what to think. She knew marrying him would mean a great upheaval in her life, but could she stand to not marry him? Could she survive it? The shared custody, seeing him on holidays or when it was time to pass off the kids, to see him find someone else to share his life with. 

That last one hurt the most, the thought that if she didn't say yes to the man she loved, that he would be free to find someone else to love him, to cherish him. Until death do they part. She pictured a faceless woman holding his hand, touching his neck, wrapped in his arms. It made her heart hurt to think of him and another woman naked, in bed, wrapped around each other in a moment of passion. 

When in reality, she knew, that could be her. It could be her hair she saw him twining his fingers into, her mouth he pressed his lips to, and her body he held as he thrust. Their babies, their home, their wedding rings, their vows, their life, their happiness. 

She woke up wanting to cry with frustration. 

But as she thought back to his tears in the doctor's office, the way he had broken down at seeing the babies for the first time, at feeling them for the first time, she knew deep down that she wouldn't be able to hold off forever. That as much as she wanted to say she worried about the future and what it might bring, she also knew that Rory would take care of her until he drew his last breath, that he would love her and their children with every cell in his body and that in the end everything would be all right. If she said yes. 

If she said no? She had shivered at the thought—cold, dark days would be in her future. 

So when she found her mom and Rory sitting in the kitchen, talking quietly over cups of coffee, she stood quietly in the doorway, hoping they wouldn't notice her. 

Rory was telling Wendy about his character on the TV show, and Wendy's face was appropriately horrified. 

"He's not so mean, really," he was assuring her. "He just follows orders, no matter how heinous those orders are, but deep down he's a good guy. Even protects the little girl until he gets in a fight with a warrior woman and the girl leaves him to die." 

Emma's mom's eyes went wide. "And does he?" 

Rory chuckled, that low rumbling sound sending shivers up her spine. 

"Actually, no. He goes on to join a sept, a church, and helps them when they start to build a building to meet in." 

"How nice," said Wendy, smiling now. "Does it all turn out in the end?" 

Rory shook his head. 

"Actually, they all die, but my character moves on to avenge them." 

Feeling that it might be possible for Rory to give her mom a heart attack, Emma cleared her throat. Both Rory and Wendy turned to her, though it was only Wendy who gave her a big smile. 

"Honey! How was your nap?" Her mom rose and went to the counter, but Rory just stared at her. She couldn't blame him—he likely didn't know how to act around her now. 

A warm cookie was thrust into her hand and then her mom was gone, but she could be heard humming in the living room just beyond the wall. Emma swallowed, though the cookie remained in her hand, untouched. 

"Rory, could we talk? In my room? Please?" He looked up at her, soulful brown eyes kind and understanding, and he nodded. She turned her back on him so he could follow her, but also so that she wouldn't have to watch his large form unfolding from the small chair. She didn't need anything distracting her right now, because she had things that needed to be said. 

Emma walked into her bedroom and took a seat on the chair, putting the cookie on the vanity at her back. Rory walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped on his lap. He had on a long-sleeved shirt with buttons up the front, and his hairy forearms were on display with the sleeves rolled up. She loved that look, the masculinity of forearms like this. 

Bringing her eyes up to his, she swallowed again. "I owe you an apology, Rory." 

He shook his head and made to interrupt her but she held up her hand. "No, I do. Again. I'm sorry for not trying to get in touch with you about the pregnancy. I really am. Rory, you're going to be a wonderful father." She turned her face to the side, looking briefly out the window at the way the trees swayed in the wind. If only they would take away her insecurities, let them swirl away into the distance like the leaves blowing on the lawn. 

"I am also sorry for leaving you wondering what's going on, for not answering your proposal, and for keeping you here for no apparent reason." 

"I haven't minded at all, Emma," he said, but again she held up her hand. 

"No, please, let me finish." She paused and took a deep breath, letting it out through her nose. "I didn't know what to think about it. I didn't know what to think about seeing you in this house, after thinking for six months that I had lost you forever, that I had walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to me. But then, slowly, over the course of those six months I adopted a new normal. These--" she put her hands on her belly and looked at it, before bringing her eyes back up to his, "--are my new normal. These babies, and my parents, and my business. Being home." She looked around the room, letting him know she was encompassing their surroundings. 

"I can't say that in six months I got over you, because that would be a lie. But after six months I was able to get used to the idea that you were no longer a part of my life, and it became... easier." 

Again, she swallowed past the lump in her throat. This was harder than she thought, feeling like she had to get these words out. Why couldn't she just have said yes?! 

She looked down at her hands resting on her belly. "It has taken me two weeks to know that, the truth is, I don't want to do this alone. The rest of this pregnancy, the birth, the babies, the diapers, the sleepless nights that are to come. I don't want to be the only one taking their photos, watching them learn to smile, learn to talk and laugh and play. I don't want to be the only one to watch these babies grow up to be little people, kids, teenagers, adults." 

She sighed, but looked up at his face again. "Seeing you today at the doctor's appointment, and seeing your tears, your joy at really seeing the babies for the first time, really pushed home the fact that you deserve to be there every step of the way." 

Okay, this was it. It was time. She got her baby speech out of the way. Now she needed to prepare her love speech. 

Emma stood and walked the short distance to stand in front of Rory. It was almost comical, as normally she might have stood closer to him, but now there was a large expanse of baby belly in the way. It was no matter. His face was level with her chest, so to make things less awkward for her, she bent and grasped his hands, briefly closing her eyes at the feel of his warm skin in hers. She loved the feel of him. 

Gently putting his hands on either side of her belly, she looked into his eyes. "We need you, Rory," she said, and she would have gone on if he hadn't leaned forward and pressed his lips to her belly. 

She hadn't expected it, and she froze, feeling his hands gently pressing on her sides. 

Then she heard him speak, and tears gathered in her eyes. 

"I'm your daddy," he said into her shirt, lips still pressed into her. His deep, raspy voice gave her shivers but they both ignored them as he continued. "I love you both, and I can't wait to meet you... I love your mom, too, but I don't know if she believes it." 

"Rory--" she said, but he shook his head and shushed her, still not looking at her. 

"Shh, don't interrupt." She thought she heard a smile in his voice and she chuckled, unable to stop herself. He resumed speaking to the babies through her skin. 

"So, do you think if I asked her nicely again that she'd agree to marry me? Because I do, I love her with all my heart. I love her more than I've ever loved anything in this world, and I don't think I could live without her." 

Beneath his mouth a baby moved, a good, swift kick that made Emma groan. 

Rory looked up at her, a hesitant smile on his face. 

"I think they're saying yes, so... Do you, Emma? Will you marry me?" he asked again. "Will you spend the rest of your life with me, make me happy, love me, as I will do for you?" He slid his hands over her belly and kissed it, actually kissed it this time. "I want to make you happy, and I want to do it with you as my wife." 

 

 

Rory waited, but when he looked into Emma's eyes he didn't see indecision this time. He saw happiness, and he realized she wasn't talking because she was too busy wiping tears from her eyes. 

"Yes, Rory, I will marry you," she said right before a sob caught in her throat. It was the sweetest yes he'd ever heard. He stood, towering over her. 

"My love," he murmured quietly as he dipped his head to hers. Their kiss was sweet, a slow moving of lips that had once known each other but that now needed to get reacquainted. Emma tentatively opened her mouth in invitation and Rory took it, sweeping first her lips with his tongue and then exploring further, as his arms went around her back. Her stomach pressed against his lower parts and he chuckled against her lips. 

"I love you, Rory, more than you could ever know," she said, leaning forward to rest her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as best he could. She continued, "I love you so much that it hurts sometimes. I woke up today knowing I was going to tell you yes, but still terrified of what the future holds." 

"You don't have to be scared, Emma." He rubbed her back, loving how she felt leaning against him, how her body fit in his arms like she was made to stand there, even if there were two small bodies now pressed between them. "I love you, and I love them too," he added, stroking the side of her stomach with the backs of his fingers. 

There was another kick, and Emma gasped from the sensation. "I think they already love you too," she said, smiling up at him. In her eyes he could see her love on display, and he knew he'd found his home in her arms. 

Later, after eating Wendy's fantastic lasagna and after her and Lloyd had gone to bed, Rory and Emma sat out on the couch together, his arm around her. She was snuggled up to his chest taking deep breaths. 

"Are you smelling me?" He asked, smiling when she nodded. 

"I missed you so much.” 

"I know. You're mom told me." Emma sat up at that and asked what Wendy had told him. "That you were depressed, and that they knew something had happened in Alaska but you wouldn't talk to them about it." He kissed her but she pulled away from him, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Why didn't you talk to them, Emma? They love you." 

She gave him a small smile. "I know they love me. But leaving you broke my heart. Talking about it would have meant my heart would break again, and again, and again." 

Rory could understand that. He had actually felt the same, every time someone asked him what was wrong. She turned to him now. 

"Rory, please promise me that you'll never leave me, that you will be by my side til death do us part. I don't think I could survive us parting ways again." 

Rory sat up as well and took her hands in his. He kissed her fingers one by one and said, "Emma, when I take my wedding vows I will mean every word of them. But right now, know that I vow to never leave you, never forsake you, and I will never hurt you again. I will never send you away, and I will tell you that I love you every day for the rest of our lives." 

She smiled again, and the suddenly took his hands and put them on her stomach. "Feel, Rory!" And sure enough something inside her was pushing on his hands through her skin. He chuckled, and kept his hands on her stomach as he leaned in to give her a passionate kiss. 

"That's Rory Junior," he said, jokingly. Emma chuckled. 

"Well, we still have a few months to work out names. Let's not decide now," she teased. 

Rory laughed again, leaning in for another kiss. This time he slowed it down and nibbled at her mouth, paying homage to her in a way that he knew she would feel. When his arms went around her she grasped his shirt front, pulling at him and moaning softly into his mouth. Then her hand dropped to his thigh, and he tensed.

“Emma,” he warned, but she shook her head.

“I’ve wanted you to touch me since I saw you that first day, standing in the house. Rory, please,” she asked, kissing his lips as he pulled back to look at her.

Slowly he traced the skin at the open neck of her shirt, growling low in his throat as she shivered again and closed her eyes. Then he leaned down, placing soft kisses on the curve of her shoulder before nuzzling his face at her chest. 

Emma leaned over to see if there was any light coming from upstairs. When she saw none, she sat back and untied the drawstring holding together the neckline of her shirt. The skin over the top of her bra was beautiful, ivory with faint veins underneath. He rubbed his nose on the softness between her breasts and then pulled down one cup of her bra to release her nipple. When he closed his mouth around it and sucked gently she moaned low, arching her back to give him better access. 

It was all the invitation he needed. He put one arm behind her back to support her and lowered the other cup of her bra. Her breasts were on display for him and they looked magnificent, slightly larger than he remembered. He took one and then the other into his mouth, laving at her nipples and enjoying the way she was reacting. She was just as passionate now as she had been on that last night they'd spent in Alaska. 

"Rory, I need you," she said, and he was immediately hard. 

"We're in your parents house, love." He was wary of overstaying his welcome. As it was, he was supposed to return to his bedroom at night. 

"I'll be quiet, I promise," she said, pulling at his shirt. She pulled it up enough to put her hands on his chest, and she sighed when her hands made contact. "I've missed this, missed you," she said. She sat up on the edge of the couch, chest still bared, and pulled him in close until he was kneeling on the floor. He stepped between her legs and bracketed her face with his hands. Plundering her mouth, he had to admit he might have missed her more. This felt so good, her breasts tasted so good, and he needed her as much as she needed him. 

"You promise?" He asked, and he saw excitement on her face as she nodded. He paused and looked down, reaching out to cup both her breasts in his hands. He leaned in to kiss her as he tweaked at her nipples. "Pregnancy suits you, love. You're so beautiful." 

She pulled her bra up and they quietly walked back to her bedroom. There, he closed the door and turned to her. He wasn't sure how this was going to work, had never been with a pregnant woman before. But come hell or high water he was going to figure it out. 

Emma took pity on him and took control, pulling off his shirt while he bent over and then stepping in to kiss and nuzzle at his chest. She smelled him, tasted him, rubbed her cheek against fuzzy hair. "I missed you so much," she said again. Rory reached down and pulled her shirt up and over her head. 

"We need to be fast, I don't want your parents waking up and finding us like this." Emma giggled softly and pulled her bra off. Then she pulled down her pants and panties, and took off her socks. When she stood before him naked he pulled his pants off so she could see what she did to him. He was fully erect. 

"Emma, it wouldn't matter if you had five babies in your belly, you will always be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." She smiled widely at him, obviously pleased he had said that, and she walked towards him and wrapped her hand around his hardness. "Sit down on the bed," she said huskily. 

Rory did as he was told, sitting back against the pillows so he was semi-reclined. Emma climbed on top of him, somewhat ungracefully, using his shoulders to steady herself. It was a struggle not to giggle, and Rory saw this. But he was so turned on, it didn’t matter. 

"I have dreamed of this so many times, Rory," she said, rubbing his tip against her against her wetness. "All for you, Rory," she said as she sank down onto him. Rory closed his eyes at the amazing feeling of having Emma wrapped around him finally, something he had dreamed of for months. 

"You are truly glorious, Emma," he ground out as she rose and then came back down onto him. But she was beyond talking. Her hands on his shoulders, she raised and lowered, raised and lowered, and he leaned forward to take one of her breasts in his mouth. She put one of her hands under the other one, offering it to him as well. He gladly took it, so turned on by what she was doing that he knew he wouldn't last long. So he reached between them and as she moved, he rubbed her sensitive nub. 

"Oh, Rory," she breathed, trying to whisper. But she had started to whimper and she was losing her rhythm. Rory could feel her getting closer and closer, and so was he, but he needed to keep them quiet. 

So he pulled her close where she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed her hard, holding her there for a moment to let her know she was not to pull away. Then he lifted her and began to work under her, thrusting up into her two, maybe three times before she shattered on top of him and he was spilling his seed deep inside her. 

Rory was seeing stars when he came back down from his climax, and Emma had collapsed on top of him, her cheek to the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. She turned to his skin and gave him a lick, using one hand to play with his nipple. 

"When can we go again," she asked seductively. 

Rory chuckled. "I'm not sure." Then he honestly said, "It's been about six months for me since I've done this." 

Emma laughed. "Me too. But I'm ready when you are." She sat up and he got the distinct feeling she was trying to get him going again. She leaned forward and put her breasts in his face. Rory put his head forward and dropped his face into her cleavage. Every man's dream, and she was sitting on his lap with her breasts in his face, and—he was getting hard again. And she had felt it, moaning in pleasure. 

As she began to move he growled her name and she whispered huskily into his ear, "Love me, Rory." So he grasped her bottom with both hands and helped her move on top of him. 

"Always, Emma. Always." 

 

 

Five months later another of their dreams came true. After having given birth to healthy identical twins named Alice and Rory Jr., Emma had recovered from the pregnancy nicely and had maintained a presence on the party front in Chicago and the surrounding area. Her face painting was gathering momentum, with new followers every day on her social media accounts. She was getting ready to shutter its doors for the winter as Rory was going to be due back in Ireland for filming soon, and her and the babies would be going with him. 

But before they left they had one last thing they wanted to do. Now, in front of a handful of their closest family and friends, with Meghan as Emma's maid of honor and Stephen as the best man, Rory stood on one side of a small meadow hidden in trees outside of Chicago, waiting for his bride. As soft classical music played, from behind a tree came Emma dressed in a long white sheath dress that nearly dragged the ground as she walked. She walked arm in arm with Lloyd, a thin, flowing veil covering her face. 

As they walked she could see Rory staring at her. He always made her feel like he only had eyes for her, and she tried to do the same for him. He was magnificent, standing in a plaid suit he had wanted to wear, dappled sunlight flitting over everything in the clearing. The first time she had seen the suit she had stared at him, open mouthed and laughing, having thought he may have lied about it. Apparently not, and if that was what he wanted to wear at their wedding, she wasn't going to tell him no. Plus the shirt underneath had a collar high enough to hide all the hickeys. 

He smiled at her now, appearing to have guessed what she was thinking. To show him that she too was in good spirits, she raised the skirt of her dress as she walked, showing him she wore her strappy black heels that they had bought in Alaska. She opened her mouth in a little O and laughed, earning an odd look from Lloyd. Rory saw the heels and his grin got wider. They were so unbelievably happy. 

Towards the front, just as they past Wendy and one of Rory's female relatives holding sleeping Alice and RJ, as Emma had taken to calling him, Lloyd stopped her and lifted her veil to kiss her cheek. 

"I love you baby girl," he said, dropping the veil. 

"I love you too, dad." And then she handed her bouquet to Meghan, whom had become a fast friend immediately upon meeting her, and winked at Stephen, who was completely besotted with her. Then her eyes landed on Rory and all else disappeared. He was looking at her with such love in his eyes that she thought her knees would go weak. But he grasped her hand and gave her strength. 

He mouthed "Always" to her and she smiled, sending him a small wink from under the veil. 

"Always" she mouthed back, and they turned to the minister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaargh! This was the first fic I wrote and I'm sad to see it end :-( 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for reading! You are all lovely, and I love you!
> 
> Now I'm off to write more Sansan <3


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